


The Night of the Good Boy

by Celestial_Alignment



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jim is a werewolf, M/M, Reference to gore, Some Humor, Supernatural Elements, Werewolf, disguised artemus gordon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26768341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestial_Alignment/pseuds/Celestial_Alignment
Summary: After "The Night of the Wolf" Jim begins to act rather peculiar...
Relationships: Artemus Gordon & James West, Artemus Gordon/James West, James West/Other(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's October 2020, we're supposed to her TWO FULL MOONS. What better way to celebrate than with a werewolf fic?
> 
> I dunno about you, but I was severely disappointed that Jim did not get cursed with lycanthropy in "The Night of the Wolf." This is me addressing it with only a vague plan, so tags will be added or corrected along the way. This was supposed to be silly fun, but it went the way of angst and feelings and now I'm running with it and keeping my crack title.

Usually when it came time for a vacation, Artemus was glad to spend that time with his partner, James West, regardless of the fact that they had spent almost every minute of every day together on assignments. In the past few weeks, however, Jim had made himself downright _intolerable_ to be around. He was grumpy and irritable, had been eating more than his weight in food without so much as getting bloated, and found a lovely young woman to spend a couple of hours with almost daily.

Whenever Artie would try to find out what was behind Jim’s behavior, he was met with yet more hostility. So he backed off. Something was wrong with James, and asking questions only made it worse. It left Artemus to speculate on all kinds of unpleasant explanations.

Maybe the sins and dangers of the job have finally penetrated Jim’s titanium skin. They had only been at this for a couple of years, but the things they had seen and experienced was enough to make any young buck turn prematurely gray. 

Artie lay awake many a night trying to piece it together, what could have triggered this drastic change in behavior. It started around the time they had dealt with the maniac, General Titus Trask, who had tried to implant mind controlling devices into peoples heads, and even tried recruiting Jim into his own personal army… Maybe he had done something to break Jim.

Artie hadn’t noticed anything immediately after that, though. It wasn’t long before they were on their next assignment to protect the succeeding Croatian King, Stefan IX. Again, there was mind control involved, but the worst danger Jim had faced were the usual cutthroats and some savage wolves.

And after that—well, how could yet another dealing with Dr. Loveless be anything but impactful? Arte had to imagine that even Jim West had his limits. He had seen him tired and worn down. The man was only human, after all, and no one knew how to unravel him like Miguelito Loveless. 

So when they reached New Orleans, where they would ordinarily have a nice lunch or dinner together, Artie let Jim go his own way. For his part, Artemus secured a date with a nice young lady that he met at the theater, which he attended solo. Jim was supposed to come to the show with him, but had given Artie the ticket ‘for some lovely lady’ to have, and he was off. No clear reason was given, even though it wasn’t needed, and with the abrasive mood Jim had been in, Artemus wasn’t inclined to ask.

There was a lot Jim West never said, of course. The man was as articulate as they came, brought up with a university education and an avid reader, but he was as careful with his words as he was with the bullets in his gun. He always made them count. There were moments, few as they were, when he could get Jim talking. Whiskey often loosened that tongue of his, and they could chew the fat for hours about anything, from political controversies to pointless philosophical speculation, often reminiscing about the fantastical encounters they had had with so many mad geniuses that they could not help but admire on some level.

That kind of conversation was more than Artemus was getting from his date tonight with Miss Charlotte, who was asking all kinds of questions about his job, to which of course, he told her all about his long career as a fob chain salesman. Eventually, he found a debonair way to invite her back to the train for a nightcap and a little less conversation.

They had gotten halfway through a bottle of wine when she decided to get fresh and flatten him against the mantle of the fireplace in a hard, sloppy kiss. While it wasn’t the greatest kiss he’d ever had, he was determined to have a good time and he took her in both arms and reciprocated passionately.

The tongue was too much, his face was more wet outside than in, and he simply could not do it. He politely broke the kiss, put her cape over her shoulders, and took her home. He went to bed alone that night, and just before he nodded off, his last thought was on Jim and all the sinful fun he was probably having at this very moment…

A loud crash woke him. It was still dark out and he was out of bed and awake in seconds, a derringer pulled from his pillow as he ran to the parlor car in nothing but his trousers. What he saw, he didn’t comprehend.

His eyes were on the door first. It was open, but hanging from one hinge,the glass shattered from one of the two panes, letting in the eerie blue glow of the approaching dawn, the icy autumn air whistling in. Then, his gaze drifted to the papers that were fluttering in the breeze, the contents of the desk that had been dashed all over the floor, including the telegraph. Among the debris was a body, face down, naked, and bloody.

“Jim!” he knelt over him, gripping his wrist and feeling for a pulse as he looked to the door with alarm.

There was a heart beat. Someone had hurt James, dumped him here, and made a run for it. Leave it to some madman to deliver this kind of message. Fury had Artemus bolting for the open door, practically flying off the train car to look up and down the tracks. No sign of anyone. It was too dark to look for any horse tracks.

He sped back into the car and to Jim’s side, checking his back and sides for injury. Not a scratch. No blood around his ears, nose, or mouth. So where did the blood come from? He gently turned him onto his back. He was far too frightened and confused to be concerned with his friend’s nudity, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen it before.

“Jim… Jim, come on, wake up…” he spoke softly, albeit urgently as he took Jim’s cheek, lightly patting.

There wasn’t so much as a noise from Jim. His hair was a standing mess, his skin clammy with sweat and caked with dirt and blood. The derringer was set onto the coffee table and Artemus found a throw blanket, draping it over Jim for the sake of dignity and warmth so the man wouldn’t catch his death.

Jim felt surprisingly light in his arms when Artie lifted him off the floor. He felt so… small, and not his tightly bound 170 pounds that he often threw around like a wrecking ball in fights. Artemus laid him out on the plush couch, his head on the arm of it, his knees bent just so that he fit more or less comfortably.

Still unresponsive.

Artie was shaking now, dragging his hand down his own face, curling around his chin and back into the black strands of his hair to pull helplessly. As Jim lay there, he didn’t look particularly distressed or injured. He looked so peaceful and vulnerable. If whoever did this intended to come back for him, they’d have to get through Artemus Gordon first.

He didn’t know what else to do, so he got a basin of water and a towel and cleaned the blood from Jim’s face and neck as far as his sharp collar bone and the hair on his chest that was mottled with dirt and blood. He wasn’t about to cross any lines of decency, if Jim was going to wake up soon, he didn’t need his partner sponge bathing him… Though Artemus accepted without so much as a blanch that he would be glad to do it, to take care of his friend any way he needed.

Someone must have drugged him or gassed him, that was the only way anyone was ever able to get the better of Jim West. But who? And why? 

* * *

The sun was rising, bathing the landscape in a shimmering orange, the beams casting through the windows of the train. Artemus was dressed now, just buckling on his gun belt with fierce determination darkening his face.

He was going to find who did this to Jim.

He grabbed his hat and headed for the door, which was now leaning haphazardly across the opening.

“Artie… that you…?”

The sound of Jim’s voice, though groggy, instantly had Artie turning on his heel and rushing back to the couch. Jim was already sitting up, the throw blanket sliding off his chest and pooling into his lap as he blinked confusedly, looking around. He lifted the blanket, seeing he was wearing nothing beneath.

“How’d I get here…?”

“Don’t you remember anything?” Artie felt a shiver of fear. At least Jim didn’t have complete amnesia this time, but memory loss was problematic.

Jim’s eyes were clear, blue as ever, and glancing pensively around the room. He shook his head.

“How are you feeling?” Artemus asked carefully. “Any headache or nausea?”

It was the usual list of symptoms they put themselves through when they needed to figure out if chemicals had been induced.

Jim shook his head again. “No… I feel fine.” He pushed his fingers through his hair, dirt trickling onto his shoulder. He frowned a little and brushed it off. “In fact, I feel better than I’ve ever felt. Except for the feeling that I’ve been asleep for a year…” He trailed off when he saw his own hand where it had brushed the dirt away. He turned it over, examining it closely. “Artie… That looks like blood.”

Very slowly, hesitant even, he offered his hand to Artemus. Only because Jim offered did Artie take it, looking more closely. Crusted under his nails and in the creases of his knuckles where Artie hadn’t been able to clean thoroughly, was indeed the dark red, browning with time.

“Maybe you’ve been eating pomegranates…?” Artie said lightly, hopefully.

But they both knew what dried blood looked like. It turned a very particular shade of rust. Jim was strangely silent, staring at his hand, his breathing even. Artemus might have thought the man didn’t care if he didn’t know him so well, and if he didn’t see Jim swallow so hard that his Adam’s apple jumped.

“How about you get cleaned up and dressed… I’ll put coffee on,” Artie gave the back of his hand a friendly pat and finally let go.

It was almost a full hour later when Jim stepped out into the parlor car, still buttoning his gold brocade waistcoat, his collar open. His face was hard, his movement slow with deep thought. He didn’t even look to Artemus yet as he sat down with him at the table, his elbow propped on it, his now thoroughly clean fingers touching the corner of his mouth.

Artie slid the steaming cup of black coffee towards him without a word. There was a look in Jim’s eye that was unnerving. Something had happened, something that Artemus’s instincts were telling him required caution to pursue.

“You alright?”

That gentle inquiry was enough to bring the younger agent back to earth, blinking with the light returning to his face. When he noticed the coffee cup that was practically under his nose, he smiled a little and took it with a nod of thanks.

“Fit as a fiddle, Artemus.”

“That’s good to hear…” Artie sighed and put another dollop of whiskey in his own brew. “You want to go over what you remember from last night?”

That furrowed Jim’s brow again, his eyes squinting a bit as he leaned forward, both hands around his mug, his gaze reaching far again.

“I remember walking through the French Quarter with Miss Fontaine… She wanted to watch the river boats because the sun was going down… I don’t remember reaching the water.”

Artemus calmly sipped his coffee, absorbing every word and watching Jim over the edge of his cup. Licking his lips, he set his cup down.

“Then I suppose the next question is: Who is Miss Fontaine and where can we find her?”

Jim tilted his head back, gulping down the black coffee like it was a shot of tequila, and Artie had to wonder why it didn’t scald his throat. Jim was already standing.

“She’s a singer at the Le Gardenia,” his French was hardened with his stubbornly Chicago tongue, “and I’m gonna get some answers out of her.”

Artie had to hurry to his feet and put on his own waistcoat as Jim dressed smoothly, but quickly, putting on his cravat and shrugging on his green bolero jacket that matched his green pants. Artie was wearing his gray tail coat today, his yellow shirt and dark waistcoat.

Jim was the first one to the door, but he stopped, his head canting to regard where it seemed to hang lopsided from the top hinge.

“Oh,” Artie inched forward to point a hand past his partner. “I forgot to mention the door has apparently been broken down by a battering ram before they unceremoniously dropped you on the floor…”

“Not a battering ram…” Jim spoke slowly, as if his brain was working too fast for his mouth to catch up. He pulled the door open and leaned in closer. Only then did Artemus see what he missed in the darkness before—claw marks. All over the outside of the door, deep enough to splinter it.

“Great balls of St. Elmo’s fire…”

“A bear?” Jim trailed his fingers along the gashes where the wood was visible beneath the paint.

“I’m not sure… looks about the size of a small black bear, maybe…”

“Tracks.” That was all Jim needed to say and they were both climbing down from the car and leaning over the dirt surrounding the rails.

With the sun climbing higher in the sky, they had more than enough light to see it now. Paw prints in the loose dirt leading right up the rear of the _Wanderer_. They carefully tiptoed around it, heads bowed. Artemus followed it right to a spot where water had settled enough for mud, to create a perfect print.

“Jim! Take a look at this…”

They both knelt on each side of it.

“Definitely not a bear,” Jim was lightly gnawing his bottom lip. “Cougar, maybe?”

Artie clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Looks canine to me… look at those claw marks. Cats usually retract their claws while they’re walking…”

“I’ve never heard of a dog or wolf that big before, Artie…” Jim said distractedly, his hand splayed and hovering over it. It was more or less the same size.

“I’ll get a cast of it so I can study it more closely later…” Artie said.

With a rush of investigative excitement, he flew back into the train and to the laboratory car where he gathered up his plaster. Jacket off, sleeves rolled up, he forgot to even get his hat off. He knelt over the print and filled it with the mix. 

Jim continued to circle the train and the surrounding earth, and when Artemus looked up from his task for a moment, he saw the back of his friend who was looking down the endless stretch of railroad, his hands on his hips.

Artie had a palette knife that he used to level off the plaster, and shaking it from his fingers, he left it to dry. It should be more than set in an hour. He approached Jim from behind and propped one boot on the rail.

“Obviously some kind of huge animal did all that damage,” Artie said, “if I had to guess by the direction of these tracks, it looks like they go right towards the city…”

“There’s bound to be witnesses who saw the thing,” Jim quietly agreed. “But Artie… That doesn’t explain what happened to me. There’s a person behind this, there has to be...”

“You think someone’s got that thing on a leash?”

“I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jim remembered the whole day so well—up to when he remembered nothing, of course. After he and Artemus had gone their separate ways, Jim went straight for Le Gardenia to find an old acquaintance, Miss Fontaine. They met up every time he was in New Orleans, she was great company and neither of them attached any expectations to one another.

The days leading up to his vacation, he had never been so tightly wound in his life. He was tense, pulsing with unreleased energy, irritable, hungry every hour of the day no matter how much he ate or drank, and worst of all, and more than was usual for him, he craved sex. He hadn’t even been abstinent from it for more than a couple of weeks, but he felt like he hadn’t had sex in years. He was biting at the bit, needing release. He checked out a room the nearest hotel and went to find her.

Miss Fontaine was always able and willing for carnal indulgence, and she helped to satisfy him, just a little, in her dressing room of the Le Gardenia music hall, when she was still sweaty from her dancing and ripe for the picking as far as he was concerned. Usually he wined and dined her, to prove that he was a gentleman despite their hedonistic business exchange, and she was positively amused with his impatience that night. After they had rocked her vanity table for nearly a quarter of an hour, he stepped out to let her change out of her costume and they left together to walk the streets of the city.

Le Gardenia was a nighttime music hall that didn’t open its doors to the public until three o’clock. Miss Fontaine’s room was on the second floor of the building, and he didn’t have a key for the back door. It was too early in the morning to go picking or exploding locks just yet, so he told Artemus they ought to start at the hotel where he had booked a room.

He couldn’t remember—no matter how hard he tried—he simply could not recall if he had made it as far as taking her back to his hotel room.

There was a chance the concierge had seen something, or maybe there were clues in Jim’s room. Maybe he would find Miss Fontaine sleeping there. They strolled into the lobby and a round-faced, short man greeted them with a smile. Jim remembered him clearly from when he had checked out the room.

“Good morning,” Jim managed a smile as he took a lean on the counter.

“Good morning, Mr. West! Will you be checking out?”

“Not quite yet…” The concierge was already pushing the guest book in front of him. “Mr. Sanders… This may be an odd question, but… would you happen to know if I ever came back last night after I left for the Le Gardenia?”

Mr. Sanders pondered for a moment and shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of, Mr. West. Although, I wasn’t here all night, you might have to ask Mr. Kendell of the night shift.”

More guests were arriving, so Jim made sure to get out of the way in the bustling lobby. With Artemus one step behind him, they went upstairs. He easily remembered it was room 203, but as they approached the door, he pressed his hands to his pockets.

“Artie… I don’t suppose I had the hotel key on me when you found me this morning?”

Artemus blinked. “Jim, if you were carrying any keys, I didn’t look close enough to find any.”

Jim waved at him. “Okay, never mind…”

In unison, they produced their means of picking the lock: Jim, a simple straight pick from the inside of his lapel. Artie, a hefty device to fit over the key hole. The thing took twice as long as a single pick, but Jim never had the heart to argue with Artemus about it. After all, the man invented it himself and Jim couldn’t resist the way that Artie glowed when he was particularly proud of a project.

“Oh, I insist…” Artie smiled and gestured to the door.

Jim nodded graciously. “Thank you.”

Leaning over, he put the pick in, and with a quick jimmy, it clicked. He returned it to its place under his left lapel and stepped inside.

The room was untouched. The bed still made, the curtains still open. His toiletry set was still on the table by the water basin, his shaving kit untouched. The kit was small enough that he tucked the leather pouch into the inner pocket of his jacket. He lost a suit in this mystery, at least he didn’t have to worry about replacing his good razor.

They both did a clean sweep of the room, looking for anything and everything out of the ordinary.

“Looks exactly as it did when I left for the music hall…” he said. “I don’t think I ever made it back here.”

“Where to next?”

He didn’t want to wait five hours until the Le Gardenia opened. He was restless for answers, he couldn’t shake the niggling feeling at the back of his neck.

“I want to retrace my steps down to the river, to the last place I remember. Maybe it’ll jog my memory.”

Artie agreed, and after he checked out of the hotel room and explained to the best of his ability with apologies and monetary compensation for losing the key to his hotel room, he was on his way.

He remembered the walk every step of the way. Miss Fontaine was on his arm, beautiful and playing demure despite the very flashy can-can she had put on earlier in the evening or having those same legs wrapped around him afterward. It was getting dark, the street lamps were lighting up, and she was describing how pretty the lights of the river boats were, and how you could hear the music across the water…

While it was easy enough to picture in his head, he didn’t have any memory of actually seeing it. There was a point now, as he followed the same path with his partner, that the journey became less familiar. It wasn’t just because it was daylight now, either.

Then it came in glimpses. A flash of… pain. The worst pain he was sure he’d ever felt, and he had been through a lot of harrowing situations. It was agonizing to the point that he felt it in every tooth, through his brain, into his fingertip, from his shoulders to his knees and toes. Someone screamed… or a few people did. He remembered the smell of gun smoke. Moonlight burning through him. 

The pain stopped and he was free for the first time in his life. Or just unconscious? 

“Jim!”

He snapped out of it and found he was practically hugging the iron street lamp, Artie’s hand hooked around his bicep, strong and holding him upright. There was the briefest stab behind his eyes with what must have been a memory, but the agony and the recollections all faded together as he blinked and looked around him.

“Jim, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Artie…” he straightened himself out. “I thought… I thought I was remembering something… It’s gone now. Maybe it never happened.”

“Tell me.”

Jim’s lips parted, but he couldn’t find the words. “I don’t know how to describe it. Let’s keep going…”

He continued on, the path less and less familiar as they went. They turned a corner and the sidewalk was colored red. But people kept on walking, as if there wasn’t what appeared to be fresh blood smeared on the ground and splattered on the wall. Jim glanced to Artemus, who had turned a little gray. It was Artie who approached the nearest street vendor.

“Good morning!” Artie said with his usual amiable smile, already dipping two fingers into his waistcoat pocket. He was speaking, but he was now too far away for Jim to hear him.

The older black woman gladly grabbed two bags of the pralines she was selling, offering them to him with a returned smile. They chatted briefly, and Jim was only vaguely aware of her pointing in his direction where he stood over the blood. Artemus listened attentively, gave her an extra twenty-five cents and sauntered back to Jim’s side, offering one of the bags of sugared pecans.

Jim took the bag absently, unable to take his eyes off the sidewalk.

“She didn’t see what happened…” said Artemus, popping a praline into his mouth and munching for a moment before continuing with his mouth full. “But she said there was a body here early this morning… At least, she’s pretty sure it was just one, there were too many pieces to be sure. Local constables came and cleaned it up about an hour ago, carted the pieces to the mortuary a block that way…”

He stabbed his thumb in that direction.

Jim had a praline between his thumb and index and was bringing it to his open mouth when he stopped and finally looked at Artie. “Did you say in _pieces_?”

“Mm hm…” Artie’s jaw moved as he chewed. “As if torn asunder by a giant animal…”

Jim suddenly felt a heavy stone in his stomach and he lowered the praline, dropping it back into the bag. “Was the body a woman…?”

“That’s what I asked…” Artemus said softly. “She didn’t know.”

“I think we should go to the mortuary and see the pieces they gathered.”

Artie was about to eat another praline, but his nose wrinkled, the corners of his mouth down turning. He nodded and folded up the bag, tucking it into his jacket. “That’s _exactly_ how I hoped this day would go.”

* * *

“Who’re you?” said the beady eyed man behind the counter.

“James West and Artemus Gordon,” said Jim, producing his credentials. “We’re with the United States Secret Service. We heard there was a strange animal attack just around the corner and that the victim’s body was brought here.”

“I’ve already talked to the police about it, they wrote it off as a bear. Probably diseased, but it’s the only animal capable of tearing a man to pieces. What does the Secret Service care about animal attacks?”

“So it was a man?”

“Yes, an’ don’t ask me how I know.”

“No need,” said Artie, clearly considering just what kinds of pieces were collected.

“Were there any witnesses to the attack?” asked Jim. “Anyone at all who could confirm that it was actually a bear?”

The beady eyed man was hunched over his paperwork, squinting as he scribbled things down. “Police said it wasn’t like any bear they’d ever seen. No one stayed around to get a good look at it. It mauled a man who got too close, someone else shot it, and it bolted off. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do… If you want to see the body, you will need to show me the correct authorization.”

Artemus sighed. “We’ll have to wire Washington and come back—”

“Never mind, Artie…” Jim was turning for the door already. He still had that sensation of an ice block in his stomach. “If the man says it was a bear, it was a probably a bear…”

Without missing a beat, Artie followed his lead. They bid the man a polite farewell and walked out into the crowded street.

“Well?” Artemus was pulling the pralines out of his pocket again, putting a smaller piece into his mouth.

He almost didn’t hear Artie, his own mind was too loud as he looked out at the faces in the street, the people going about their business as they always did, unaware of the unusual things that happened every night and day. Answers were out there, and something was making Jim hesitant to find them. The man who would move mountains to solve a mystery, dive through a glass window to arrest his man.

“Okay, enough is enough…” Artemus had a hand flat but firm on Jim’s lower back, urging him to turn to the left and into the shadow of a narrow alley between two old buildings. With the bag of pralines in one hand on his hip, the other flattened on the brick wall behind Jim as he leaned in closely. “Something happened to you, Jim, and I can tell it’s bothering you. If you remember anything, you know you can tell me, right?”

“I know, Artie…” he replied automatically, because he knew instinctively it was true. He _could_ tell his partner anything. He winced with pain and rubbed at his temple. “But Artie, I… I _don’t remember_. But I know—I can _feel_ —that it was bad.”

 _I’m afraid, Artie._ He couldn’t say the words. He had never admitted to fear, and he wasn’t about to start now. And yet when he looked his friend in the eye again, the wrinkle on Artie’s brow and the softness in the deep brown of his eyes, he knew that Artie knew. Artie could see the fear.

Artemus deflated a little letting his hands drop with a sigh. “You’re worried about Miss Fontaine?”

He nodded. “All I know is that she was there with me when that animal attacked.”

“You think you were there when it happened?”

“I must have been…” Jim could only shrug. “I remember screams, and when you found me…” All that blood.

“Animals have been known to thrash a person enough to tear their clothes off, but Jim you don’t have a scratch or a bruise to speak of. And that’s following the assumption that a possibly-rabid-bear carried you to the train and dumped you there unharmed and left. It doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“But an animal was in the train,” Jim argued. “I can’t explain any of it…”

“Well, we won’t get any answers standing here and beating our brows,” Artemus said through his teeth, as he often did when he was frustrated with a dead end. “Let’s find Miss Fontaine.”

An objective. That was enough to help James focus. They returned to Le Gardenia. The hall itself may have been closed, but there was more than one way to get inside. While they easily could have picked the lock of the front or back door, a peek through the windows showed the staff working inside, cleaning and preparing to open for the evening.

So there was only one thing to do. Artemus was left to wait while Jim scaled the side of the old French structure to the balcony, to slip in through the open window. He heard her scream before his eyes even adjusted to the darkness of the room.

“Jeannie!” He held out a hand just in time to block a flying shoe. “Jeannie, it’s me, Jim West!”

She was clutching a silk robe tight around her, her hair down and her make up off, the second shoe in her hand. “Stay away! Leave me alone!”

“Hey, come on,” he tried to laugh it off, taking his hat off and holding out his hands. “Look, I just wanted to ask you a few questions—” He had to duck to avoid the other flying shoe. “You know me, now knock it off, will you?”

“No! I don’t know you, you’re a monster! You killed that man! He shot you, and you killed him! You ain’t human! Get out!”

She was screaming at the top of her lungs, beyond any consolation. Without warning, her door was kicked open and four men came barreling in. It was enough that a lady was screaming and a strange man was in her room. It wasn’t a good look for Jim West.

“Look, fellas…” he tried to start civil, but he was tensing for the fight.

They charged at him and he charged back. Bodies flew, punches were thrown, Jim found the high ground atop a chest of drawers and took down three of them at once by diving right on top of them. They were knocked silly or knocked so deep into a cabinet that he had enough time to grab his hat and hurdle right back out the window. He dropped onto the paved street hard, an inch away from Artemus.

He was winded and tousled, panting for some air. Artie glanced up at the window, calmly chewing pralines. 

“Either Miss Fontaine was _really_ glad to see you or you had a run in with some unfriendly locals…”

Jim tugged his hat on and huffed. “Let’s just say she _wasn’t_ glad to see me.” His heart was still hammering, not from the fight, but the echo of Miss Fontaine's screams.

_I don't know you, you're a monster!_

“Were you at least able to get some answers out of her?” asked Artie.

_You killed that man! You ain't human!_

"Not so much answers as more questions..." Jim said quietly. "Let’s go…”


	3. Chapter 3

They left New Orleans without any answers. Their next assignment called and they were once again on the move, chugging along the rails of the Western territories. As the days turned into weeks, everything seemed to be back to normal. 

Neither of them talked about what happened. If Jim was still thinking about it, he never said so. Though Artemus never missed the moments that the his partner seemed to fall into deep thought, and he wished he could give a penny for each of Jim’s thoughts.

Meanwhile, Artemus occasionally checked in with the telegraph office in New Orleans for updates on the animal attack. There was nothing. No sightings of the thing, and no further information to be had. It was a one-off freak attack, as far as the authorities were concerned. There was nothing to do but move on. Jim was no more satisfied by the lack of answers than Artemus was, but there was nothing more to be done about it and they had a president to serve.

That didn’t mean that Artie didn’t spend some free time here and there studying the plaster cast of the paw print in his lab, comparing it to the illustrations in his books of various animal tracks from around the world. It didn’t match any known indigenous creatures to the U.S. territories or states, so he had to speculate that it was possibly some foreign beast brought from overseas. Maybe it escaped a circus or a zoo…

He kept coming back to the print being canine. It had to be a wolf, though the shape of the paws was peculiar. It could have been deformed, or maybe the print itself was imperfect and misleading. He wished he had multiple samples.

While considering animal activity and the probable causes of aggressive behavior, Artemus looked at the calendar and realized it was a full moon on the night of the incident in New Orleans. And that was a fact he could not get out of his head.

He remembered the previous full moon. It happened to be when they were escorting King Stefan IX of Croatia. Jim was attacked repeatedly by ferocious wolves and bitten. Twice. He was bitten so badly it shredded his clothes. It healed well since then, and there was nothing more said about it.

Wolf bite. Full moon.

And the sight of Jim on the floor, covered in blood that wasn’t his, along with the memory loss…

Bah! Ridiculous!

Artemus dismissed the idea before it even completely manifested. He shoved the paw print cast into a drawer, put away his books and notes and moved on, laughing at himself for even considering it and making himself finally get some sleep.

He was a modern, 19th century man. A man of science and deductive reasoning. There were no such thing as werewolves.

And yet, he was also a dreamer and a man of the theatre and adventure. He couldn’t get the _what if_ from whispering constantly in the back of his head with morbid curiosity and terror.

Their next assignment took them to Denver to investigate the disappearance of a fellow agent. After a series of incidences, it was discovered that a local sawmill owner had been smuggling money from a bank through his shipments of wood, while in cahoots with the owner of the bank who was fibbing on his accounting. The agent was in the middle of investigating this and wound up captive in the mill, chained to logs.

The situation was made increasingly more difficult when they were unable to blast their way out of captivity with the tiny bombs that Jim carried in his belt buckle… because he was not wearing it. Artie had taken it for granted that his partner always carried with him an arsenal of tools and weapons on his person for every mission. He had the sleeve derringer, the boot knife, leech putty in one boot heel, knockout gas in the other. But no belt buckle. It was just the gun belt.

At one point, both Jim and Artie also ended up chained to said logs as they were being fed into saws, but with their combined ingenuity, they not only managed to escape death, but rescued their colleague and arrested both the mill baron and the banker. Their colleague immediately excused himself to go to Washington for R&R and a full report.

The sun was going down so Jim and Artie stayed in Denver for a good dinner and relaxation, starting with a drink at a saloon. Jim still seemed wound up, even as he leaned on the bar top, his hat low on his brow, brooding over his glass of whiskey. Artemus was leaning comfortably on one elbow as he sipped at his own glass. After a quick _Salut_ they had said nothing to one another for a full five minutes, and the silence was as heavy as lead.

“I was thinking, James,” Artemus said. “How about dinner at Bernardo’s? It’s been awhile, and he did say the next steak dinner would be on the house…”

“That’s fine.”

“After that, we could go down to the box office, see if there’s anything worth attending while we’re in town…”

“Mm hm.”

He wasn’t so sure Jim was even listening. He decided to test it. “Then, maybe we can go paint mustaches on all the posters in town while singing ‘Oh! Susanna’ in falsetto dressed as Cossacks.”

“Sure thing, Artie.”

That settled it. 

“Sure thing, Artie, he says…” Artie nodded with defeat and looked into his drink.

He hated this. This was supposed to be where they would drink and laugh together, talk about the close calls they had, how they nearly got cut into pieces by giant buzz saws only a matter of hours ago, mull over any loose ends that they could pull at in the case. 

It wasn’t normal for Jim to be that far in his shell. It wasn’t moping, not by the way that Jim’s finger was tapping so fast on his glass he might as well have been tapping out a Morse code message. Or the way that Jim kept rolling his shoulders, as if his skin didn’t fit right.

Then, some kind of bird of paradise came gliding up beside Jim, hands snaking over his shoulders.

“Hey there, stranger… What’s your pleasure?”

 _That_ had Jim’s attention. The young agent smiled for the first time in hours and turned full body to face her, his back to Artie. She was looking for her night’s pay, and Jim was nibbling at the bait. From what Artie understood, the man was a good tipper.

They chatted and flirted quietly, and Artie deliberately tuned it out to enjoy the music from the piano. One of the keys needed to be tuned, but he forgave it. Gave it character.

The saloon girl was tittering, Jim was whispering something at her ear, his hand on her waist, her hands on his chest. Artie wondered what Jim was whispering, suspecting the girl was giggling in a purely instinctual reaction to feeling his breath on her ear. Artie had felt it before when Jim would be passing crucial information about a mission.

A man was approaching, a rather burly cowpoke whose hat was pushed back as if to denote that he meant business. He jabbed his finger hard into Jim’s shoulder.

“How ‘bout you stop takin’ up all the girl’s time?”

Jim looked to his shoulder, then to the cowpoke. “I’m only taking what time she’s willing to give, _friend_.” There was something lethal in Jim’s voice that had Artie standing still.

“In case you haven’t noticed, _friend_ , you ain’t the only hombre in here,” growled the cowpoke.

“And she is not the only lady,” Artie added in his friendliest tone, hoping to diffuse this before it started. “There’s no harm, sir.”

“Just leave me alone, Bill,” the girl lifted her nose and huddled in closer to Jim in a display of defiance.

“Hey, you said you’d have a drink with _me_ , Marlene!”

This was usually where Jim would insist that the man leave the girl alone, maybe give him a chance to back off or swing first. But before Artie could even blink, Jim’s arm shot out and clocked the man cold. Bill hit the ground so hard it made the floorboards jump. 

Jim stood over him, a foot on each side as he gripped the unconscious man’s bandanna that was around his neck and punched him again and again, teeth bared.

“Jim!” Artie stayed back. “He’s had enough!”

Naturally, Bill had friends. They all kicked their chairs as they stood from the poker table, and that was when all Hell—a la James West—broke loose. They took one step forward and Jim charged full body into the closest two men, taking them both down hard to the floor.

Artemus knew better than to get in his way or try to stop it—honestly he was more worried about the other guys. Jim was a whirlwind in a bar fight, but tonight he was positively feral and was berserking in a way Artie had never seen. God help these men. Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, Artie took it and Marlene somewhere out of harm’s way to wait out the storm. Fists were flying, furniture splintering, grunts, yells, cussing. At one point, Jim was easily lifted by two men and hurled over the counter and out of sight behind the bar.

Artie counted in his head. _One, two, three…_

Right on cue, Jim popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box from hell and smashed a bottle on one man’s head while planting his fist between the eyes of the other. Then his lean body was launching back out into the fray.

The piano player played on, and in an instant it was all over as quickly as it started. With the chaos done, there was a man with his head jammed into the wood of the bar, another man curled into himself in writhing pain against the wall, another man buried in the remnants of the table cards, and Bill himself sprawled on the floor with blood oozing from his mouth, a tooth somewhere nearby.

Jim stood in the middle of the carnage, his chest heaving, his perfect blue suit bunched up at the shoulders, covered in dust and specks of blood, his chestnut hair standing in all directions, his eyes wild and alive from the fight. He straightened himself out from his fighting stance, tugged the wrinkles out of his waistcoat and jacket, pushed his fingers through his hair and ambled to where Artie stood beside the stunned Marlene.

“Feel better?” asked Artie.

Jim was slightly winded, but he had his glow back. “Swell, Artie…” he was looking at the girl now. “You all right?”

“I’m fine… But what about you? Four men against you, that’s hardly fair!”

Artie smiled. “You’re right. If there were _five_ of them, they might have had a chance.”

“Oh, come here you…” she cooed to Jim and took his arm, completely ignoring Artemus. “Let me take care of you and all your injuries… Tell me where it hurts…”

“Well... I got this pain in my thigh, just right here…”

Artemus heard enough as they were sauntering off towards the stairs that led to the rooms above. With a sigh, Artie stepped over one of the unconscious men to stand beside the piano player, taking a swig straight from the whiskey bottle. All the cups were smashed anyway.

“Do you know the song ‘ _I’m Hard as Coal and She’s a Furnace’?_ ”

The pianist quirked a brow at him. “No, but I’ll make somethin’ up if you wanna sing it.”

Artie laughed and pulled up a chair. “I most certainly would…”

Artemus was an old pro at keeping himself occupied while Jim was off with some lady or other. He could have gone back to the train, but the idea of being alone in that luxurious car seemed abhorrent. Besides, the pianist turned out to be a lot of fun to hang around with. His name was Lou, he was new to Denver, and just shy of 40, and they sang and talked for a good two hours, getting increasingly more tipsy as they passed the whiskey bottle between them. As the time crawled pleasantly by, the cowpokes who had been tenderized by James West had limped out of the establishment and gone their merry way. Possibly to regroup and come after Jim with more men, but the government agents were always prepared for retaliation from sore losers.

That was a problem for the future. At the moment, Artie was having a pleasant time with Lou the pianist. They hit it off well. Very well, it turned out, judging by what came out of Lou’s mouth next.

“Say, Artemus… You know the song _‘Ganymede on the Green’_?” 

Artie did know the song. Well enough, in fact, to know that it wasn’t a real song at all, but a code he hadn’t heard since his early days in theatre. Lou was propositioning him. Artie felt suddenly hot under the collar. It had been some time since he shared a bed with a man, he had been quite determined to compete with Jim in the conquest of the so-called fairer sex. Artemus liked women well enough, he appreciated them in all the same ways that his partner did. Although, Artie would be the first to admit that he often exaggerated that appreciation in an attempt to divert from having the same appreciation for men. Like James, who was in just about every definition of the word, appealing. 

The very thought of Jim was enough to trigger a chaotic set of emotions that Artie didn’t quite know what to do with. But Lou was looking at him, tentatively expectant, and Artemus finally let himself notice that this musician wasn’t so terrible looking. The mustache made him look older than he truly was, but he was healthy, fit, and had kind eyes.

“Yeah, I know it,” he said calmly, once the storm of his thoughts had passed. “Haven’t heard it in a very long time, I’m afraid…” he gave an ambiguous confession.

Lou smiled, his fingers still dancing over the keys, his eyes on Artemus. “I’d be glad to play it for you… If you’d like to procure a room at the Alabaster Hotel and come back in an hour when I’m finished with my shift…”

Well, Artemus was positively flushed. He considered for a moment, felt that this man was as genuine as he was discreet, and… well, Jim shouldn’t be the only one having a good time. And it was the sort of good time that could never be had with Jim West, that much he had accepted.

“I look forward to hearing it,” Artie said smoothly as he slid off his seat.

He headed for the door to make his way for the Alabaster Hotel, but before he even reached the swinging doors an ear piercing scream sounded upstairs. The piano stopped, and the handful of people still in the saloon sat dumbfounded. Artemus didn’t wait on them. He was already running at full speed upstairs. Just as he reached the top landing, there was Marlene, wrapped in a bed sheet and nothing else, her hair wild, and a look of sheer terror on her face. She was babbling incoherently as Artemus caught her in his arms and she was fighting to get away. There were more screams coming from the open door of her room, masculine cries of pain that sounded exactly like Jim. And somewhere in those cries, animal growls. 

He couldn’t make out any words of what she was saying, but he let her continue in her flight. Suddenly, there was silence. The door was wide open, and he knew Jim must be in there. Raising his gun, Artie approached and leaned cautiously around the door frame to look inside.

The room was a disaster, the canopy of the bed in shreds, blankets and clothes strewn hither and thither, vases and basins shattered. Then he saw it, huddled at the window, breathing laboriously.

A wolf.

No. No wolf could be that size or that shape. 

A man?

But there was fur over every inch, a tail limp behind it, deep growls that no human being could produce.

It was practically folded into itself, trembling, snarling, and completely unaware that Artemus was even there. All Artie could think to do was close the door, trap it inside, find out how the animal got in there and find Jim. Very slowly he reached for the door knob, curling his fingers around it. The hinges squeaked, and Artie cringed.. The wolf’s attention snapped to him, ears erect but unnaturally low on each side of its head. It was when Artemus saw its eyes that he was stuck cold. They were an unearthly yellow, so bright that they seemed to glow against the chestnut colored fur. He knew those eyes, even if their color was all wrong. Against all reason, he spoke to it.

"...Jim?"

They didn’t seem to know _him_ , however. Teeth bared, and with growl that shook the floorboards, it charged. Artie slammed the door shut and held onto the handle for dear life. The door quaked with the thrashing and the slamming on the other side of it, the breaths of the beast gusting under the door, claws digging rapidly at the floor and splintering it.

Suddenly it stopped. Artie held his breath and did not dare loosen his grip on that door handle.

_CRASH._

He knew the sound of a body crashing through a window. All caution was thrown to the wind and Artie threw open the door. The room was empty.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN 2020! We have a blue moon. Awoooo

It took two turns about the room for Artemus Gordon to grasp what he had seen, what it could mean, and what to do about it. First and foremost, he had to do one thing: Separate fact from fiction.

He saw a creature of human-sized proportions that could only be compared to a wolf by the general characteristics of it. The articulation of the body was more human than canine, though it moved as well as any apex predator he had ever seen. But the eyes were terrifyingly human in their shape (if not the color), and he knew those eyes better than his own…

Somehow, against all reason and believability, there was a wolf where Jim West had been, and Artie simply could not exclude the possibility that the wolf and Jim may have been one in the same. All he needed to know for certain was to see the transformation with his own eyes— or better yet, see Jim and the wolf at the same time, separate, and then they could laugh together about it later. Of course, there wouldn’t be a later if he couldn’t find Jim. 

Marlene had been taken into another room by the other girls of the saloon. One of them had given her a robe to cover herself, and they surrounded her closely, trying to console her, her terror filling the room and infecting the rest of them. Artemus knocked on the door before letting himself in, taking off his hat.

“Miss Marlene?”

“Get out!” said one of the girls. “She’s not working!”

“I realize that, ma’am, but I need to speak with her about what happened. I’m Artemus Gordon, I’m an agent of the United States Secret Service…”

Marlene’s tear-streaked face peered out from behind the colorful frills of her friends. “You’re his friend, aren’t you?”

“If you’re referring to James West… Yes, ma’am, I am. I need to know what happened to him.”

“What is he? What’s the matter with him?”

She was getting worked up again and her comrades closed in around her, shielding her from the government agent.

“You need to go!”

“I’m here to help,” he didn’t budge. “That thing is out there somewhere and someone could get hurt. It’s important that I get some answers.”

“It’s… it’s okay, girls…” Marlene’s voice quaked. “I don’t know anything, but I’ll help if I can, Mr. Gordon…”

“May I speak to you alone?”

She nodded and the other girls reluctantly sashayed their way past him and out of the room, looking him up and down like a varmint to be crushed. He didn’t blame them, honestly. They were protecting each other, and he felt the same about Jim just now. When it was only the two of them left, he latched the door and inched nearer to her.

“I don’t want to pry into any intimate details, but I need you to tell me everything that happened the moment you and Mr. West left the saloon… Everything he said, if he was acting in any way peculiar. Even if you don’t think it’s important, it very well may be.”

“But what _is_ he?” she pleaded, clutching her robe tighter.

“Marlene, please…”

“Well… We went upstairs, you know… He was very charming, you know… The way he handled himself in that fight may be the manliest thing I ever saw! I took him to one of the rooms and… well, the usual sort of thing, he wasn’t any different than any other man who wanted to get my skirt off, and I didn’t mind. He took his clothes off and I would have been happy just to look at him all night, he’d so handsome… Anyway, we got friendly, he was eager and very… generous. Not a lot of men folk bother with what _I_ like, you know? We didn’t talk, not that there was anything to say… We fooled around for awhile, had a lot of fun, but then he started to seem… I don’t know, distracted? Then he seemed like he was in pain, just all of a sudden. I asked him what was wrong, but he couldn’t even speak, he just grabbed his head like it was going to burst in his hands and it just got worse and worse…”

She was shaking, but the more she spoke the more her voice steadied and he couldn’t help admiring her composure. Of course, she had gone through the hysterics already, the shock may have settled in.

“I thought it was my imagination but all that perfect hair on him was getting thicker and I just heard these noises coming from him like… well, it was like the sound of bones breaking all over… I never saw a man in so much agony, but he never screamed. He just kept getting hairier and hairier and when he looked at me his eyes…. They weren’t that pretty blue anymore, not even green. They were yellow like a wild animal! Then I ran away, I guess, I don’t remember what else happened…”

It was ridiculous. Impossible. There was a logical explanation, there _had to be_.

“Did you and Mr. West have anything to drink or eat in the time you spent together?”

“No… All I saw him drink was that bottle you and him were sharing.”

Artie hadn’t suffered any ill effects.

“Do you remember ever smelling anything odd? Any kind of smoke or gas?”

“None at all… Why?”

“There might be a chance one or both of you were drugged into hallucinating…”

Her brow furrowed. “You’re calling me crazy? Or a liar? You think I use that funny stuff? Mr. Gordon, I am sober as a nun and I know what I saw!”

He patted the air between them as he moved away. “Alright, alright… I was simply suggesting the possibility that someone did that to you without your knowledge… Thank you, Miss Marlene… You’ve been a great help. I suggest staying indoors and with the other ladies until the night is over. That thing is still out there, and we can’t be too careful…”

The other girls seemed to have dissipated, the remaining customers in the building requesting their company. No one paid Artemus much attention as he returned to the room of the incident. The place looked like a tornado had hit it, but he was able to salvage Jim’s belongings, every article of his expensive suit, his hat, his gun belt without the silver buckle, as well as his boots. He put it all into a neat bundle and carried it out of the place under his arm.

When he left the saloon and walked out into the dark streets of Denver, he buttoned closed his fringe jacket, pulling his hat lower onto his head. It was icy tonight, but there were a lot of people out and a lot of chatter and alarmed voices.

“It ran that way!” said one man pointing down the street as he spoke to another gentleman. “Jumped right out of that top window there! Not so much as a limp from landing!”

“A bear?”

“Not like any bear I ever saw! Legs were too long, jumped like a cougar…”

The horses in the street were restless, their masters struggling to keep them still. They were spooked, alright. Artemus was wending cautiously around the wagons and horses in the road, heading for the local law enforcement. But as he stepped up on the wooden sidewalk he stopped and stared at the hanging sign for the sheriff’s office.

Obviously there was a massive animal on the loose, many people had seen it. That was more than enough reason to call upon the sheriff and find the thing before it could hurt anyone.

And at that moment, there sounded low and mournful in the distance a wolf’s howl, carried far and wide on the wind. The people in the street fell silent for an eerie moment, and in an instant took off in all directions, eager to get indoors. Artie’s blood ran cold when the howl rang out a second time.

There was a battle going on in Artemus Gordon’s mind. The man of science told him that things like monsters and werewolves were explanations that superstitious men used for things they didn’t yet understand. But the part of him that knew there were stranger things in heaven and earth than could ever be explained (to poorly paraphrase the Danish prince) knew that Jim West was suffering through something worse than death and or any natural ailment. This responsibility was not on any sheriff or posse. This was on him.

He found his horse, still hitched beside Jim’s Arabian, and he climbed into the saddle. With Jim’s horse in tow, he rode back to the _Wanderer_. It was going to be a long night, and he intended to be prepared for it.

* * *

Artemus left Jim’s horse was safe and warm in the stable car, then he made sure his gun and belt were loaded. He had knockout gas balloons in each sleeve, flash bombs in his jacket. The thought crossed his mind that he should have silver bullets, but it was dashed as quickly as it came. He couldn’t possibly make any with so little time, and he had absolutely no intention of shooting to kill. He’d die first.

He was not a fool, mind you. For the sake of argument, and purely for the sake of the scientific method, he searched for something silver in the train. It definitely, positively was not at all for his own peace of mind, or ‘just in case’. This wasn’t a werewolf, he told himself. Jim was having a really, really, really bad night. Like so many other bad nights he had had before. He was drugged or having an allergic reaction of some kind. Surely.

They had a set of silverware that was sterling and he put a spoon in his boot, he wouldn’t carry anything sharper than that. Not the silliest thing he had ever done in his eventful life. In his pockets and found that he still had a couple of silver dollars. too. He felt like an idiot, but in itself it was as harmless as tossing salt over one’s shoulder or avoiding walking under ladders. No one else needed to know. Thus armed, he was back in the saddle.

He didn’t ride far before he paused again in the prairie, looking out into the night. It wasn’t very dark at all, actually, and he was glad he decided against bringing a lantern. The moon shone so brightly tonight that everything was bathed in a striking blue, he could see the sharp shadows of the brush and the owls or bats when they flew by. Where there should have been the noises of the night—crickets at the very least—there was silence. So silent when an owl flew by he could hear the wind of its flapping wings and not so much as a hoot.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat and kicked his horse towards town. He began at the broken window on the second story of the saloon, the glass still on the road. There were enough witnesses still outside to point him in the right direction, and when he reached the edge of town, where there was nothing but a stretch of prairie, he could see the wolf’s tracks as clear as day in the stark moonlight.

The tracks led out into the wide open plains… At least that was how it seemed until the tracks stopped at a fence. Somewhere afar he could hear the frantic mooing of cattle… and he could just make out the dark shape of a felled cow with something over it, tearing it to pieces. It stopped in its gorging and looked at him. Eyes shining. Oh, lordy _it was looking at him._

Pulling hard at the reins, he wheeled his horse around and galloped as fast and as hard as he knew his mount could go. He kicked its sides, whipped with the slack of the reins, shouting at it and spurring him faster, his head snapping back to look over his shoulder. The moon reflected like two lamp lights in the wolf’s eyes—it was gaining on him.

He drew his gun and fired behind him, not bothering to aim precisely, but hoping the flying bullets would deter the beast. It worked, the wolf snapped angrily and fell back, veering off the path and off to the side. At that moment, the clouds drifted in front of the moon, plunging everything into darkness, and Artemus lost sight of it.

But like hell he was going to stop riding. There was a ranch up ahead, he could see the lights of the house and the looming shape of a barn, a giant tree beside it.

The horse was snorting hard, and Artie could hear him struggling in the run.

“Come on, boy… Just a little farther!”

When they reached the barn, Artemus jumped down from the saddle and pulled open one of the large swinging doors. There were no animals. He’d have to wonder about that later.

As he was about to lead his horse inside, the clouds drifted again and the moonlight spilled out into the prairie. 

The wolf was in the oak tree, its eyes two glowing disks. It dropped from its perch and charged.

Artie gave a shout and slapped his horse’s flank, sending him galloping out into the night. The wolf pivoted to follow, but Artie waved his arms.

“Hey! Over here, you mutt! Free meal here!”

The wolf pivoted again and was coming right at him. He had some regrets.

“Holy… _Jesus!_ ” 

He ran into he barn and pushed closed the doors, barring them with a wooden board.

“Fine idea, Artemus, just fine…” his voice shook as he pushed his palms and full body weight against the doors.

There came the inevitable jolt from the other side, the feral clawing, the growling. These doors were old, though. The wood had rot in it and was splitting and his boots were slipping in the dirt. He couldn’t possibly hold this forever. The board that was holding it closed snapped, splinters flying, and another hit knocked Artie onto his ass.

He had just enough time to scramble to his feet when the wolf shouldered through so hard that the doors flew wide open. Artemus didn’t stay to watch, he was running for the ladder that led up to the hayloft. He felt the gust of hot breath on the back of his legs, and as soon as he reached the top he kicked the ladder down while the wolf was on it. It fell back hard with a a cloud of dust that billowed in the moonbeams that shone though the door and the slats of the walls. The wolf was already on its feet and looking up. There was a string of drool from its bared fangs.

Artie looked around the hayloft. There were small piles of straw, old and dusty, mice visibly scurrying out of it. A tiny window. No other avenue of escape. He was like a cat stuck in a tree with a dog circling below.

Wait. Didn’t he see the wolf up in a tree just a moment ago?

He heard the claws scratch the floorboards as it leapt, and it came landing on all fours right in front of him before rising slowly onto its hind legs. Somewhere from the panic that threatened to boil over, he remembered the silver spoon in his boot. He had no time to run, but as fast as any gunslinger, he pulled that utensil out of the top of his riding boot, bent his knees slightly, and with a maneuver he had executed countless times with footlights and a foil, he lunged.

The wolf’s eyes flashed and it jolted back as if stuck with a white-hot poker, and Artie hadn’t even touched it. Its hellish yellow eyes were on that spoon now, its mouth snapping with feral rage as it backed away. Though Artie was shaking and clammy, he could smile a little now with triumph.

“Well…” he put on his best mockery. “So, you _are_ allergic to silver, eh?” Keeping the spoon firmly between him and the beast, he pulled the silver dollar from his pocket and held it out as well. That seemed to double his defenses.

The wolf’s ears flattened a bit and it was back on all fours, easing back. Its lips twitching, the growls low from within its belly.

They were at an impasse. Now what?

This was an opportunity for Artemus to get a real, long good look at it. It was genuinely a monster. Any theory that this was a mutated wolf was out the proverbial window with its reaction to silver, and the simple supernatural speed and agility of it. And there was still no accounting for those yellow eyes that looked so eerily like Jim’s, the color of its fur a perfect match for Jim’s hair, in all its copious amounts. Artie swallowed hard and forced himself to look the thing in the eye.

“Jim…? Is that you in there?”

It continued to growl, and snap in his direction.

“If you are in there, buddy… and even if you can’t hear me or give me some kind of sign… Just know that I’m not goin’ anywhere. It’s just you and me ‘till the sun comes up.” He felt a block of ice in his stomach with the next thought that occurred. “Just, uh… please don’t eat me before then… My fondness for living aside, I think you’d be very upset if you woke up tomorrow morning with me between your teeth…”

The more he spoke, the quieter the wolf became. Or was that his imagination? Only one way to find out.

“I’m having some very distinct recollections of the time that you had amnesia and you were pointing a gun at me… Can’t say I like being on the receiving end of _that_ look… Boy, especially not right now…” his voice was hoarse with trying to talk, but… the wolf was listening. It stopped pacing. “Remember how you got your memories back, Jim? You said it yourself. It was when you saw me in danger. That’s how I know you don’t want anything to happen to me, and I can tell you right now, James my boy, I am in some real danger… from you…”

For the first time since Artie had laid eyes on this animal, its mouth was closed, its eyes steady. The hackles were still up at the neck and shoulders, the head low as it stared at him. It licked its lips and it seemed to him that the bloodlust had subsided. Turned out, it probably wasn’t the soothing sound of his well-trained oratory skills. Birds were singing outside. Between the boards of the barn, there was the faint light of approaching dawn.

Then he heard what Marlene had described, the unmistakable sound of bones popping and cracking, and before his eyes the wolf crumbled, shaking violently, its claws digging into the wood beneath its feet. Though it growled, its labored breaths were pierced with pained yipes. It contorted, thrashed in bouts of pain, its shape altering so strangely that Artemus could not even follow the transformation, the fur receded, in a way that does not exist in nature, the strands remaining on its head, long and damp. 

What landed breathless and unconscious on the hay-covered board was Jim. Naked as the day he was born, and covered in sweat and cattle blood, lying on his side motionless. Everything was silent now, whatever nameless agony he suffered was over. Artemus absently put the spoon and silver dollar into his pockets. He wasn’t afraid anymore, he dropped to a knee beside his friend, a hand on his shoulder. He was burning hot to the touch.

“Oh, James…” His voice cracked now.

There was nothing else to say. Every shadow of a doubt was gone, he had his proof, and he wasn’t so sure he was glad of it. Pulling off his jacket, he put it over Jim’s lower half. He then sat on the floor of the hayloft and gathered his partner into his lap, his arms around him, Jim’s head on his chest. It was freezing outside, and he wasn’t about to let his friend catch a cold. He had enough problems as it was. 


	5. Chapter 5

He woke with a shiver, instinctively wrapping his arms around himself. His whole body ached, like it usually did after a mission or a good fight, but when he tried to remember either, he was at a loss. They finished their assignment, that much he remembered, then they went to the saloon for a drink and…

Was there a girl?

A fight?

He had a metallic taste in his mouth. 

He was lying on something soft, and it was rising and falling—breathing. Jim finally opened his groggy eyes and could see the material of his ‘pillow’. A dark, silver, floral waistcoat of silk, a yellow shirt… Firm, warm, safe. Artie.

Artie’s corduroy jacket was on Jim, serving as a tiny blanket of sorts. Jim didn’t need to look underneath it to know he was stark naked. But he could see and feel all the blood that was caked to him, pinching at his chest and arm hair and he felt the bile rising at the implication, as he remembered the stains on the streets of New Orleans. 

Not again.

There was a snore from Artie, and Jim realized that his partner may not have wanted the other man lying on him, even if he didn’t know how they got in this position in the first place. Jim sat up, holding the jacket to keep some of his modesty. It was also icy cold.

Artie immediately woke up, blinking bewilderedly for a moment before his gaze settled on Jim, who was sitting on the ground between Artie’s knees.

“Jim…” he rasped a little with sleep. “You alright?”

Jim was looking at their surroundings. This wasn’t the train or any hotel room he’d ever stayed in. They were in some kind of derelict hayloft and he could see some snowflakes flutter in from between the wide gaps of the boards that made up the walls.

“Where are we?”

“A barn just outside of Denver…” Artie was slowly sitting up, reaching his arms out on each side of him then massaging at his lower back with a wince. “Must be about noon by now…”

“I blacked out again, didn’t I?” Jim asked the hard question without any tip toeing. He felt with the harsh reality that something was wrong.

“Yeah…” Artie’s eyes were oddly gentle.

“You didn’t black out, though.”

“No.”

“Then how’d we get here, Artie?” Jim didn’t mean to raise his voice, but he had too many questions cropping up and not enough answers.

“I’ll tell you Jim, but first we better get you back to the train before you catch your death out here…”

Artie got to his feet, pushing his fingers through black curls and rubbing at his face and eyes. Sniffing and shaking his head to wake himself up, he moved to the edge of the loft. He patted his waistcoat, then looked to Jim.

“Ah… Would you mind getting the winch from my jacket…?”

Jim was still sitting on the rather rough boards of the floor. With his eyes on Artie, he slipped his hand beneath the jacket and felt around until he came to the surprisingly spacious hidden pockets of the coat. He groped around, feeling the balloon knock out gas. Wrong pocket. Next pocket, he found the small makeup case. Next one, he felt the cylindrical shape of the cord on its spindle and pulled the mechanical object out. He tossed it to Artie, who caught it with ease.

“I’ll have to leave you here while I go find you something to wear…” Artemus said as he lowered to one knee, driving the piton into the beam. “You, uh, left all your clothes and things at the hotel, so I gathered them up for you. They’re in the train.”

“You knew you’d find me like this and you didn’t bring them with you?” Jim was getting to his feet now, holding the jacket around his waist like a poorly made skirt. Damn it was cold. “Artie, I’m freezing my tail off here…”

“I didn’t know _what_ I would find, Jim…” the gravity in Artie’s voice was disquieting. 

The way Artie said ‘what’ spoke volumes. Volumes of more questions.

“Guess I’ll just… wait here then.” Jim conceded.

Artie nodded and sat on the edge of the loft, his legs dangling. He took the winch by its handles on each side and lowered himself down to the ground. The device was left where it was and Artie headed for the barn doors. From his high vantage point in the loft, Jim could see the doors were thrown open, the beam for barring it snapped in half. Artie went in a small circle and found his hat on the barn floor. He gave it a good dusting, slapping it on his knee once before heading for the exit.

“Artie!”

Artie stopped at the door and looked up at him.

“Hurry up.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.” They exchanged smiles and Artie disappeared out the door.

Well this was a first for Jim. Stuck in a hayloft, naked as a jaybird with Artie’s jacket to keep his nethers warm. While he was here he was trying to peer out between the boards to assess just where the hell he was. He could hear a windmill squeaking somewhere, hear the wind whistling low, see the occasional wayward snowflake. He sat himself down on the dusty bed of hay and felt it poking in all the worst places, but at least it was warmer than standing. Didn’t mean he wasn’t scowling in his silent brooding.

He had the singular _joy_ of shivering there, blowing into his hands, and rubbing his arms and shoulders while he waited. This barn didn’t even have horses, otherwise he was damn tempted to steal a mount and ride like Lord Godiva back to the _Wanderer_. If Artie didn’t get back here soon, he was ready to just go on foot.

Then he heard the approaching gallop of a horse… Make that two horses. The next thing he knew, Artie was walking two horses into the barn, one of which was Jim’s black Arabian.

Artemus was wearing his fringe jacket now and was pulling a bundle from the back of his saddle. Jim was leaning over the edge of the hayloft, watching him from above with a smile. Artie had the bundle under his arm.

“I’m glad you didn’t freeze to death on me… Here!” He tossed the bundle upward.

Jim caught it and immediately recognized the emerald green of one of his favorite suits. Pulling off the jacket he’d been wearing, he dropped it down to Artie. Next Artie tossed up his boots one at a time.

While he dressed, Artemus picked up the ladder that had apparently fallen and leaned it up against the hayloft. Jim was able to dress fully, thanks to Artie making sure to bring every piece of the suit, neck tie and all. Even had his gun belt without the silver buckle. He retrieved the winch and tucked it into his own bolero jacket, then climbed down the ladder. It sure felt good to be clothed and armed again.

Artie was waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder and he held Jim’s hat at the ready. They mounted up and trotted their horses out of the barn and into the brisk air. The sky was a solid blanket of clouds, the snowflakes few and far between but visual evidence of just how cold it was, unless if one looked close enough to see the frost on the brush.

Jim let out a sigh, his breath released in clouds. He squinted in the cold air, turning his head left and right to the endless prairie around them. He couldn’t even see Denver from here.

“How far are we from the city?” he asked.

“Probably fifteen miles, at least… Near as I can figure.”

“But how—” Jim’s further inquiry was cut short by the sound of a shot gun cracking through the morning air. Jim instinctively drew his pistol and cocked it, looking for the source.

Artemus had drawn his gun, too, and it wasn’t long before they saw the old man with the shotgun marching towards them from the farm house.

“You better light outta here and get off m’land, you squatting sons of bitches! Or I’ll blow you to Hell in a thousand pieces!” As he spoke, he was loading more shells in the double barrels.

“I think he means it, Jim,” Artie uncocked his gun and slipped it back in its holster.

“I think you’re right,” Jim also put his gun away. “Run for it?”

“Race you to the train.”

They broke into an full gallop without a word to the angry farmer, leaving him none the wiser that it was government agents who spent the night in his barn.

* * *

As soon as they arrived in their train and stowed their horses safely in the stable car, Artie gave word through the speaking tube to the engineers that they were good to go. With a jolt, the train was on the move. Artie went to work right away getting a fire going in the fireplace. It wasn’t often that they needed to light the thing, but the winter didn’t give them much choice. And the ingenious engineers and architects for this locomotive found a way to allow the entire fireplace to rotate, hold secret compartments, a pigeon channel, and still be functional.

While Artie stoked the small logs with the iron poker, Jim sat on the yellow couch on the end closest to the fireplace, arms folded tightly around him, hands tucked under his jacket to get feeling back into them. He hadn’t bothered to take off his bolero to put on his smoking jacket or anything. He couldn’t even think clearly. Everything was numb and he was on pins and needles, struggling with all the fortitude he had developed in his life and career to remain patient, because Artie had the answers. He always did sooner or later. 

Jim’s eyes followed his partner as the man rose from his crouch in front of the fireplace, a sigh gusting out of him, his brow furrowed. It was eating at him, that much Jim could tell.

“What’s happening to me, Artie?” he asked quietly, but resigned to a terminal prognosis.

Artie’s eyes flickered to Jim briefly before dropping to the floor again. “Jim…” he began slowly, which only made Jim’s heart beat slower. “What I saw I hardly believe… but I’m all out of explanations. I don’t know how to say it without sounding like someone who’s just flown from a madhouse, so I’m just going to come out and say it… You’re a werewolf.”

“That’s not very funny.”

“Who’s laughing?” Artemus said gravely.

“Artie, there’s no such thing,” Jim said it firmly, to cement the fact, to convince himself that there wasn’t even the slightest possibility. It was ridiculous.

For being a man of science, Artemus had a superstitious side he never admitted to and which Jim teased him about more than once. Artie would never live down having an all-too-realistic dream about a man-eating house and how spooked he was when they came across an identical one the following morning. More often than not the supernatural and weird was explained away with science. But there were those exceptions. They never did figure out just how Colonel Vautrain was able to reach the fourth dimension and even cast them both into it with his sheer will power. Or how Dr. Loveless was able to shrink a man to the size of a mouse. (That was one mystery that Jim wasn’t fond of revisiting, and he never was able to warm up to cats after that.) But no matter how outlandish or impossible, Dr. Loveless achieved it through science, not some supposed moon curse.

“Come on…” he lowered his voice, canting his head with a disapproving look at Artie’s extended silence.

“I saw it with my own eyes, Jim,” Artie said with frightening conviction. “I know that doesn’t count for much with our history of being dealt hallucinogenics or conditioning and what have you, _but I saw it._ Last night, you took a lovely saloon girl upstairs. Marlene. You remember?”

“Yeah… but it’s foggy at best…”

“Well, I hung around for a bit, having a nice conversation with the pianist. We heard a scream and when I ran upstairs, Marlene was in a screaming panic. You were nowhere to be found, but there was a wolf in the room that was unnatural in every sense of the word. It came after me, but I managed to trap it in there… Until it jumped right out the window and ran out into the wilderness. I talked to Marlene after, and she said she saw _you_ transforming into that monster.”

He couldn’t refute it. And that only made him angry. “Artie, for crying out loud, you don’t actually think—”

“I didn’t want to, Jim. Of course it’s ridiculous. I was going to prove that it wasn’t true, but I needed to find you. You were gone! It isn’t the first time you’ve gone and inexplicably disappeared on me. I tracked the wolf to that farm house and it came after me. It tried to eat me alive, but you know how I kept it away from me?”

He dipped his fingers into the pockets of his waistcoat and pulled out a spoon. Jim felt an itch in his nerves when he looked at it.

“A spoon.” Jim said flatly.

Artie was holding it out to him. “Yeah. A spoon. Take it.”

There wasn’t any reason for it, but Jim felt himself to be highly disinclined to do so. “What for?”

“Just take it.”

He moved his hand, to take it and humor his friend, but he withdrew again. “I don’t see the point, Artie. What’s a spoon got to do with anything?”

“It’s a silver spoon,” Artie said softly. “According to some of the resources I’ve read, silver is one of the only things that can kill or harm a werewolf. When in human form it won’t hurt you, but if you haven’t noticed you’ve been avoiding anything silver as if it _could_ do you some harm. When’s the last time you wore your sterling buckle?”

“Look, I must have just let it slip my mind in that last assignment, and I said I was sorry.”

“Jim, when that wolf was coming at me, all I did was point this spoon at him and he backed away like I was waving a lit torch at his snout. I held him off that way just long enough for the sun to come up… When it did, the wolf… it turned into you.”

Artie was haunted, that much was clear in the hollowness of his voice, the dark of his eyes in the way he steadily looked at Jim.

Jim could only stare back into those frightened eyes, the reality clear in them.

“Silver aside,” Artemus took a deep breath, his tone sharp as it always was when he explained research, “you started feeling out of sorts around the time of our assignment with King Stefan, right?”

“I spent a whole night fighting off wolves that were probably rabid. I think anybody would be ‘out of sorts’.”

“You’ve been eating at least four meals a day, when you’re able to.”

“Is it showing…?” Jim looked down at himself, poking his fingers into his taut torso. He was trying to be cute to deflect how unnerving this whole conversation was, and Artie wasn’t buying it.

“I’d also add increased sex drive to the list of symptoms, but there hasn’t really been a marked change there…”

That one brought an exchange of smiles between them, fleeting as it was, and Jim offered a humble shrug.

Artie continued, “I’ve tracked your behavior along with what happened with King Stefan, New Orleans, and last night. They each correspond exactly with the full moon.”

“You were doing research on me all this time?”

“Well… It’s a hobby…” Artie’s tone was fatalistic, as if he regretted his obsessively studious nature.

That was enough for Jim. If there was anyone whose word he trusted, whose word he would follow without seeing the proof with his own eyes, it was Artemus Gordon. He trusted the man with his life, and the lives of others. He gambled and won on Artie more times than he could count. He also knew that in spite of his memory loss, and only having vague flashes of gore and terror and pain, he knew that his friend was right. Artie simply wouldn’t lie about seeing a wolf turn into a man.

There was silence between them as the facts hung heavily in the air, as if poised for the kill when the two men would finally accept it, come what may. Jim’s gaze dropped to his hands, which were wringing tightly together. The edge of his thumb’s knuckle was crusted a little with brown. Only now, after the long, tiresome morning, did he remember that he had awoken covered in blood. Absently he pulled off his neck tie and undid the first few buttons of his shirt. He looked down to see the blood still there and his own veins ran cold.

“It was a cow,” Artie said, reading his mind. “You always did like a good steak.”

Leave it to Artemus Gordon to find a punchline in the middle of a crisis.

Jim couldn’t laugh, though. “You said silver could kill a werewolf, right?”

“According to the lore…” Artie said slowly, a suspicious eye turning to Jim as he followed along the train of thought. “Lore can be wrong.”

Jim stared at him hard. _Come on, Artie._

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it,” Artie said with warning.

“Like it or not, Artie, you’ve convinced me that I’m a werewolf,” he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth. “I got this curse on me. I’m dangerous.”

“It’s nothing we can’t handle, though. We always find solutions to impossible things.”

“Maybe, but when have we ever gone forward without a contingency?”

“Jim…” Artie tried to laugh, but it came out in a bitter scoff and he broke into a short pace over the carpet.

Jim was on his feet too now, moving to join Artie who had stopped to lean an elbow on the mantle of the fireplace.

“We already have contingencies for ourselves, don’t we?” Jim reasoned with alarming calm. As he always did when things got really bad. “We’re ready for impostors and mind control. What’s one more contingency?”

Artemus couldn’t argue with that and Jim knew it. He knew as well as Artie did that it was by far a better plan than the alternative that they put him down then and there like a sick dog. Artie met his eye and held it. If ever there was a time for them to be on the same page and agree on something, it was this.

“We’ll get this under control, I promise you that. I swear it.” Artie spoke low, his voice hoarse with emotion that he didn’t allow to completely manifest, and the pain in his eyes made Jim’s throat hurt. Artie’s eyes were lighting up with inspiration. “We’re learning more about it, we can plan for the full moon, and maybe even find a cure for it…”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Jim said quietly. “One thing at a time...”

“Jim, getting ahead is what we do. It’s the thing that’s kept us alive this long. And if you think I’m not going to be spending every hour of my spare time finding a cure for you, you got another thing coming.” Artie flat out laughed this time, as if Jim was the ridiculous one.

He knew damn well he couldn’t stop Artie. Maybe there was a scientific challenge in this that the man couldn’t resist, but Jim knew without the words needing to be uttered that Artemus was doing this for Jim. Because if the shoe was on the other foot and Jim had to defy logic and reality to save Artie’s life, he would.

“Well then, we got a month to figure this out,” Jim matched his smile, in spite of the fear that clawed inside. He threw out his hands with defeat. “Where do we start?”


	6. Chapter 6

El Jarra.

“Colonel Randolph Strauss must be about sixty-six years old now,” Artie broke the silence, his eyebrows knitted as he absently watched the path between his horse’s ears.

The winter here was like a cool spring day in Chicago. Brisk and clear with a cool breeze, but the sun was still bearing down warm on them, the sky patched with gray clouds that were heavy with rainwater that was destined to pass by, but never quench the dry earth of the lower Sierra Nevada. The temperature could fluctuate greatly out here, though, a good ten degree difference from one hour to the next. Artemus Gordon and James West had been riding in silence for about an hour now.

For the past twenty-eight days, the two agents had been bouncing from mission to mission, working day and night in between to study everything that could be found on lycanthropy and werewolf lore. They came up with exactly nothing. Only unfounded theories that their sleep-deprived brains had conjured up, and now they were well into a new assignment that the President was not willing to pass on to any other agents.

President Grant had received a bizarre, cryptic letter from an old army officer friend, Colonel Randolph Strauss. The letter was a lot of rambling nonsense, but there was a pattern of desperation and thinly veiled pleas for help. According to the president, Strauss was always a level headed and proud man. The handwriting was his, but the words were not. As always, when the president was concerned about dear friends, he would send his two best agents to look into it. Strauss was now retired from the army and mayor of El Jarra, California.

Artie went on thoughtfully. “Anyone’s character is liable to evolve at that age, it’s probably been about a decade since the president’s seen him.”

“We’ll know more when we get there,” Jim said simply, a finger pulling at his collar to loosen his black Apache scarf from his throat.

“Not unusual for a man that age to show an onset of senility…”

Jim huffed loudly. “Maybe we shouldn’t be speculating without more facts.”

“Doesn’t hurt to line up the possibilities based on what we _do_ know,” Artie countered calmly, but with an edge to match Jim’s irritability. His partner had been getting gradually more agitated as the days went on, in no small part due to the approaching full moon.

“Let’s just get to El Jarra and talk to Colonel Strauss,” said Jim. “The sooner we prove he’s just fine, the sooner we can wire Grant and get out of here.”

“Let’s just hope it’s all as simple as that,” Artie said patiently, knowing full well their missions were rarely ever that simple. “You know, my offer still stands.”

“I’m not letting you go on this assignment alone, Artie,” Jim snapped. “Like hell I’m gonna stay back at the train and twiddle my thumbs until the moon comes up.”

Leaving Jim in the train was probably the smartest thing they could have done. He was here in the middle of the desert, and Artie had a spoon and one silver bullet to defend himself.

A silver bullet.

The thing was as heavy as an ironclad cannon in his pocket. It wasn’t easy getting it, either. Not only was it expensive, but Artie had to refresh his memory on how to make bullets, just so he could make one out of melted silverware. They ran out of time to make more, and maybe he deliberately put it off. Jim insisted on enough silver bullets to fill a six shooter. Just in case.

One was more than enough for Artie.

Half a day’s ride through the canyons and rocks, and they finally came to El Jarro. It wasn’t much of a town at all. There was one street with six buildings. The mercantile that doubled as a saloon, a stable, a church, the sheriff’s office, the tiny bank, and the largest building—which was three times the size as the others and much more opulent— the hotel. The paint on it was a fresh white and it stood two stories.

They rode straight for the sheriff’s office where they dismounted and hitched their horses to the post. Artemus pulled off his hat to slap it on his leg to get some of the dust off, glancing up and down the street. There was only one person to be seen, an old man sitting in front of the mercantile with a pipe, right across the street. Crows could be heard somewhere in the canyon, the sound echoing in such a way it was impossible to gauge direction or distance.

“Lively place…” Artie murmured.

Jim was surveying their surroundings, too, his hand stroking his horse’s neck. “No school or houses close by. Not exactly a place for families to settle down.”

“They call this place a ‘boom town’ but the nearest mining operation is all the way in Julian,” said Artie. “This is just a stopping place, and from the looks of things, not a very popular one.”

They were both looking at the luxurious hotel now. It appeared silent and empty. There wasn’t even music from the saloon/mercantile. There was only a low whistle of the wind through the canyons and the occasional caws.

Then, there was a distant roar, the rocks and pebbles on the ground beneath their feet trembled, the crows scattered, and their horses danced with worry. Whatever that sound was, it wasn’t normal. It was as if a train was rolling by right in front of them, sans train. It rolled by and silence returned.

They looked to each other.

“We better check in with the sheriff…” Jim’s voice was terse. His hackles were up, and that was how Artemus knew his partner had the same uneasy feeling that he did.

They let themselves in, not bothering to knock on the public building. The sheriff’s office was a tiny room, one desk with an unmarked green glass bottle on the desk, a crooked chair, and a pile of playing cards. There was one other door, no doubt leading to the holding cells in the other back rooms.

“Hello?” Artemus called out.

There was a thump somewhere and a middle-aged man hobbled out, a finger digging the sleep from his eyes, putting his hat on.

“Yeah? Who’re you?” he rasped, looking them both up and down with suspicion.

“My name’s James West, this is my partner, Artemus Gordon.”

“Those names supposed to mean somethin’ to me?” he sank into the crooked chair behind the desk, his cheeks puffing with a contained belch.

“We’re government agents,” said Artie. “We’re here at the behest of Mayor Randolph Strauss.”

That seemed to sober up the sheriff. He stood up again, pulling off his hat to pat his head in a sad attempt to flatten the cowlick there. “Government agents? Here? What for?”

“Does that concern you, Sheriff?” Jim’s voice was cool and he offered his hand.

The sheriff took it firmly. “Sheriff McNulty. Bill McNulty. I’m just caught off guard, gentlemen. Nothing ever happens in El Jarro. There’s no more’n thirty people here at any given time. To be honest, I didn’t even know the president knew The Jug existed… uh, that’s what we call it…” He was getting to his feet and putting his hat back on. “I bet you fellas could use a drink… How about we walk over to the mercantile? Vargas has some decent whiskey there, but nothin’ fancier than that, I’m ‘fraid…”

“Whiskey’s fine,” Jim finally smiled.

They followed Sheriff McNulty across the street to the mercantile where the old man was still lounging in front, his teeth clamped on the pipe.

“Hey, Finch,” said the sheriff, jutting his thumb at the agents. “These dudes are from Washington!”

“Well, slap me and call me Betsy.” The exclamation didn’t match his dead-panned delivery of it, and Artemus filed it away for a future character’s repertoire.

Jim and Artemus both touched their hats to the old timer and passed on by into the saloon. It was dark and stuffy inside, but the wall of bottles and drink was a welcome sight. Artemus was parched!

The mercantile was well stocked with all kinds of supplies travelers might need, but there was no one there to buy. At one wall was the bar with five stools. The sheriff sat down and Jim and Artie joined him, Jim in the middle. They set their hats on the counter top.

Jim was swiping a hand over his hair, pushing it off his brow, which was still furrowed. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck as if he had ants crawling on him. Artie had seen these same behavioral ticks before in the days right before a full moon. They needed to get back to the train as soon as possible, if they could just complete this assignment for Grant.

It was only a moment before the owner of this establishment emerged from behind a curtain, a towel on his shoulder, a bucket of soapy water in his hand. The place was immaculately clean, obviously he had little else to do but wash the dust out every day. He was young, but a little weathered from work, his mustache thick but well trimmed.

“ _Hola_ , Bill…” The greeting was friendly, but edged with curiosity as he looked at the new faces.

“Mornin’, Vargas… These gents are from Washington. West and Gordon. How ‘bout some whiskey?”

“West and Gordon, you say?”

Sheriff McNulty nodded once. Vargas reached for a bottle and tipped it. Something clicked in the counter. The stools in which Jim and Artie sat tipped back and the floor opened up beneath them, darkness swallowing them.

It was damp and cold, wherever it was that they had dropped. And pitch black, save for the line of light a couple dozen of feet above their heads from the floor of the mercantile. Artemus got to his feet. He squinted in the dark and couldn’t see anything, but he was aware of another bodily presence.

“Jim, that you?” he reached out and felt a firm body standing close to him.

“Yeah, Artie…” he breathed. “You alright?”

“Aside from dropping into yet another trap door, I’m just dandy, Jim…”

He heard the clacking of a match box, and in a flash, Jim struck a light, the tiny flame more than illuminating the area. He carefully handed the match to Artie, then struck another one. Each with a light, the moved in opposite directions to find the walls and follow them. They went full circle and met in the middle. Not a door to be found. Just in time, the flames reached their fingertips and they blew out their matches together.

“I don’t suppose there’s a bucket in here somewhere we could launch you on?” Artie asked through the dark.

Jim sighed, his breath on Artie’s face. “I didn’t see any bucket. Did you?”

“No...”

It was low at first, but they heard it again. That deep vibration beneath their feet that rose and shook the rock walls around them, a distant roar as if from a dragon. It rumbled on for at least two minutes, if Artie had to guess, until it faded away again like some passing storm.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think there was a volcano around here,” Artie swallowed.

“I do know better. There aren’t any volcanoes. Earthquakes maybe… but that seemed to last exactly the same amount of time and intensity as the last one we heard earlier.”

“Machinery?”

“Possibly. We’re in one cave, I’ll wager there’s more under this town.” Jim’s voice was moving. “There’s gotta be a door around here somewhere… Keep looking, Artie…”

They were moving in the dark again, feeling the dirt and rock beneath their feet. It was all solid, pure earth.

“It’s very possible that the only way out of here is up…” Artie suggested, reaching inside of his jacket and finding his winch. He took the end of the cord that was knotted to a piton and reached through the dark until his hand brushed the corduroy texture of Jim’s jacket.

Jim took his hand in the dark, feeling for the metal spike in his grip and the distinct sound of a pistol being drawn from a leather holster. Artie could hear the small clicks of metal as the piton was loaded into the muzzle of the gun. He stepped back, giving the cord some slack from the winch.

There was a bang and a flash when the gun was fired, and Artie had the sight of Jim shooting upward, his arm straight, burned into his eyes. It sounded like it hit the wood ceiling and Artie gave the cord a firm tug. It was a long climb, maybe fifteen feet or so.

These kinds of acrobatics were all for Jim. This time it was Jim reaching for him in the dark, he felt the hand brush his arm then grip his shoulder. Artie put the winch into his grip.

Not a word was needed between them, each man knew what needed to be done. The switch was flipped and the mechanics began to whirl inside the winch, and he could hear the grinding of the gears as they hoisted all 172 pounds of James West upward. Artie still couldn’t see a damn thing, but the cracks of light that were coming through the floorboards above them were blocked by Jim’s shadow.

He didn’t know if Jim planned to punch his way through the barrier, kick his way, or knock on it. But it was quiet long enough with Jim hovering somewhere above him, that he finally had to ask.

“Well?”

“Getting the putty in place now…” Jim grunted a little. His arms might have been ready to give out from hanging there and applying the explosive putty.

Artemus moved back, allowing more than enough space.

“Look out below!”

There was a hard thud when Jim landed and rolled to lessen the impact, his small body rolling right into Artie and knocking his legs out from under him. Artie’s feet went over his head and he landed on top of Jim.

“Sorry, Artie…” Jim grunted under him, his hand patting Artie’s leg.

“If you wanted to sweep me off my feet, Jim, you should—”

“—Should buy you dinner first.” Jim stole his punchline.

They joked, but no one laughed as they picked themselves up off the hard floor. It was cold in this hole, and Artie was eager to get out. He counted in his head and plugged his ears, ducking his head. 

_3… 2… 1…_

_BANG!_

Splinters rained down on them, the gaping hole letting in the light of day. Artie coughed a little, waving his hand to get the smoke out of his face.

When they looked up, there were faces looking back at them from above. There was Sheriff McNulty with a Winchester pointed at them, Vargas with a shotgun, the old coot with the pipe and a Colt revolver.

“Where d’you boys think you’re gonna go?” asked the sheriff.

“To hell,” seethed Vargas. “They just blew up my floor!”

“Where’s Colonel Strauss?” Jim demanded. “We want to speak to the mayor.”

“Colonel Strauss is just fine… But he ain’t the mayor,” said the sheriff.

“Then who is?” Artie asked.

“You’ll find out when he’s good and ready. In the meantime, the mayor gave us strict orders to let you two cool off down here over night. With his compliments…”

Here, Vargas held up a large bucket. “Dinner, _caballeros_ …”

There was a rope tied to the handle of the bucket, and slowly he lowered it down. It was almost halfway when he opened his hands and let it drop, the bucket landing with a clang and the contents spilling out all over the filthy floor. By the smell, it would have been a nice chicken with potatoes. The bottle of wine was intact as it rolled over the rocky floor, which was more than could be said for the wine glasses that shattered into pieces. Real crystal by the sound of it.

“Woops!” Vargas and the sheriff laughed.

“Don’t even think about trying to sneak out of here,” said the sheriff. “This hole will be guarded with plenty more fire power than you see here. Right fellas?”

A crowd could be heard cheering.

The sheriff saluted them. “Sweet dreams, boys!”

Their hosts disappeared, leaving them a clear view of the ceiling of the saloon/mercantile and the sunlight.

Jim and Artie lowered their gazes from the gaping hole above to look at one another.

“There’s a new mayor in town…” said Jim. “Which I suspect has something to do with that strange letter from Strauss.”

“If they’re trying to hide something, I don’t get why they won’t just kill us…” Artie said quietly as he lowered onto his haunches to pick up the bottle of wine to read the label beneath the light. “Chateau Rothschild… 1847. It’s nice and cold, too. Your favorite, what are the chances?”

Jim crouched down across from him. “That’s a pricey wine to be dropping into a hole in the middle of the Sierra Nevada… Now I’m really curious about our mysterious host.”

Artie popped the cork and held the mouth of the bottle beneath his nose. It had a perfect bouquet, no hint of almond or any other dangerous chemicals. He put the cork back and rose to his feet.

“This is bad, Jim.”

“Full moon’s not for a few more hours.”

“You should be as worried as I am, you know. And not just because _I’m_ the one stuck in here with _you_.”

“Don’t worry. I just wanna stick around long enough to get introduced to our charitable host…” Jim, who was still crouched on the floor, picked up a buttered chicken breast and took a seat, his back against the wall.

Artie stared as the man didn’t so much as hesitate in devouring the meat. The bones were tossed aside and we went for the whole tin bucket. He poked around in it, as if taking inventory, and when he caught Artie staring, he offered the bucket.

“Ah… No thank you,” Artie managed a smile. “I’m trying to watch my figure…”

If there were any utensils in that bucket, Jim forewent them and used his fingers, plucking up the cubes of potato. It was a strange sight, but it was the same one (more or less) that Artie had seen these past few months in the days leading up to full moons. Jim’s appetite was voracious, insatiable, and without any reservations. At least there was no saloon girl to get mixed up this time around.

Artemus’s face scrunched a little to see Jim just go to town on that chicken, which may or may not have been drugged.

“Did you notice something funny about that crowd of goons we heard above us?” Artie finally asked.

Jim tossed more bones and sucked his fingers clean, casting a look up at Artie. “You mean the fact that we heard what must have been at least two dozen men and there were only the footsteps of the sheriff, Vargas, and Finch?”

“I mean exactly that. I have a sneaking suspicion that if we sneak we may find something in the realm of a record player.”

The bucket was already cleaned out and Jim snapped up onto his feet, seeming revived with the meal and perhaps a little galvanized by the challenge they were presented with. He held the empty tin receptacle for Artie to see. Well, they had a bucket now.

While Jim held it, Artie lined the inside with more explosive putty, complete with a fuse of about twenty seconds or so. The bucket was set upside down, tilted ever so slightly to aim for the edge of the hole. There were no bars straight above that he could grab. Jim stepped up onto it with perfect balance and watched as Artie lit the fuse. When they worked together, it wasn’t unlike a circus performance. They had a lot of practice and experience, it was utterly ridiculous, put on a hell of a show, and always had an element of danger.

Artemus stepped back, the putty exploded, and Jim flew upward towards the edge of the hole. Somehow, he latched on like a cat on a curtain, his arms bulging a little beneath the snug fit of his jacket. Jim rarely fell due to his own slippery grip or weakness, but that didn’t mean Artie wasn’t holding his breath as he watched. Jim pulled himself up, swung one leg over, then another. He anticipated hearing punches and breaking furniture. Instead, Jim’s head popped over the edge, his hands up.

“Looks like the rats deserted the ship.”

“Permission to come aboard?” Artie called up.

“Permission granted…” Jim lowered a rope.

It was clearly a product of the mercantile, and when Artie climbed up, he found that Jim had tied it to the beam in the middle of the room. Jim helped him up over the edge, pulling him with both arms and lightly slapping him on the back as they both caught their breath. Jim smelled like chicken, but Artie wasn’t about to mention it.

“We need to find Colonel Strauss,” he said instead.

“If he’s still in town,” said Jim.

Drawing their guns, they headed for the exit and stepped out into the afternoon sun. Not a soul was in sight, but their horses were still present.

“Where d’you suppose our friends went?” Jim asked.

“That is a very good question, James, in which I have no answer… But something tells me we’ll find out sooner rather than later.”

They climbed onto their horses and broke into a gallop down the deserted street, passing the fancy hotel and heading south. They followed the canyon until they spotted the mayor’s house. It was nice, borderline decadent relative to the dirt landscape around it. The canyons cast the house in a blue shadow and created a sort of wind tunnel, the gusts and lack of sun making this area infinitely colder than where they had just rode from. Artie shivered a little and tugged his fringe jacket closed. Jim had a little sweat on his temple and looked generally overheated. That was odd, usually Jim was the first to complain about the cold, the man thrived in warner climates. But then Artie couldn’t forget how boiling hot Jim’s skin had felt when the moon was full. They were running out of time.

They dismounted and knocked on the front door. It was opened by a slender, red headed beauty who looked more fit for an Antebellum ball than an abandoned town.

“Good afternoon…” Jim smiled charmingly.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” she spoke with serene calm.

“We’re here to see the mayor, Colonel Randolph Strauss.”

“He is sleeping,” she didn’t even blink. “You should come back later when he is awake.”

“The sheriff suggested that we come now,” Artemus said with a smile, studying her reaction to gauge if she was in cahoots with McNulty or not.

There was a beat, then she nodded and opened the door wider, stepping aside to allow them in. They were conducted into a parlor that was decorated with a Persian rug, a fireplace, and some fine china. She bid them wait and disappeared. They each took a casual turn around the room, looking at the decor. It was pretty standard, nothing out of the ordinary.

The next thing they new, the door filled with bodies of men as they filed into the room and spread out, all of them of the weathered tough type, in all shapes and sizes, but all of them with that look in their eye that they had killed and would happily do it again for a few dollars.

There was a silent beat as they all stared, and the same thing happened that always happened when a threat presented itself, or even _suggested_ itself.

Jim moved first.

He grabbed the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be a small round table, and he chucked it at the group of men. That took out at least three of them for the moment, and Jim was already on an armchair and launching himself at the rest.

Where Jim was, there were sounds of thuds, grunts, slaps, and cracking of bones, but Artie had his own problems. The three men who had been taken down by the table were coming at him now.

Artie hated this. He wasn’t a brawler like Jim, but he could hold his own well enough. Putting up his dukes, he popped a fist into one man’s face, dodged a swing from another, and armed himself with the poker from the fireplace. Brandishing it first as a sword, then as a club, he took out the three thugs in a few swings.

By the time he looked back to Jim, his partner was standing over a pile of squirming or unconscious bodies.

Jim looked absolutely feral.

The sound of a slow clap drew their attention towards a second door, the library door, that had opened.

“Very good, gentlemen! _Wonderful_ performance, but then I could never have expected less!”

They had to lower their gaze, for lo and behold, there was the deceptively large presence of Dr. Miguelito Loveless. 


	7. Chapter 7

Dr. Miguelito Loveless. 

The fact that the maniacal genius entered into almost daily conversation in one form or another made his sudden and unpredictable appearance far from surprising. Whenever there was even the slightest stench of foul play at hand, it was always at the back of the West/Gordon collective mind that it could be the work of their old adversary.

As always, Loveless was dressed for the occasion. He was wearing a fine suit of gray wool, immaculate ivory linen ruffles at his neck and cuffs, a gold silk ascot folded artfully and held in place with a jeweled pin. A suit befitting any self-proclaimed mayor.

“Interestingly, I was just telling Cordelia that it was only a matter of time before the two of you appeared…”

Only when she was mentioned did the red headed lady step out from around the doorway, her own gown equally ornate and ruffled, a true Southern belle who matched Loveless in pageantry.

“I much prefer having you by yourself, Mr. West…” Loveless went on. “But I know that where you go, Mr. Gordon is sure to follow.”

With every syllable that came out of the madman’s mouth, Artie’s blood was curdling, all the worst fears manifesting in his mind.

“What are you up to this time, Loveless? Where’s Colonel Strauss?”

“Oh, don’t worry about him…” Loveless smiled charmingly and stepped nearer to them, Cordelia sashaying close behind. “I can, however, assure you on my word of honor that he is alive and well and more or less comfortable. Which is more than could be said for the two of you by the time I am through with you.”

“It was part of your plan to get us here, wasn’t it?” Jim spoke sharply and remained poised for a fight, his lapels standing, his hair thrown out of a neat comb, and an unmistakable look of blood lust in his eyes. 

Loveless canted his head as he looked up at Jim. “The sheer narcissism… You know, more often than not my plans do not include you, but such a pattern has developed that I cannot plan without considering the _possibility_ of you. No, Mr. West, I had intended to go about my business here without your interference, but now that you’re here, I am not sorry for it. I think I missed you. Truly.” He said it with such theatrical sincerity it made Artie sick.

Dr. Loveless always had a strange fixation on Jim, and it wasn’t exactly one sided. In one of the many occasions that Loveless had appeared dead, Jim seemed genuinely sad about it. Even if he didn’t like it, Artie understood it better than he let on, of course. Anything that challenged James West was worthy of his attention and maybe admiration.

Loveless’s face suddenly lit. “Oh! How did you like the gift I sent you? The wine and chicken? I do apologize for the lack of china and cutlery, but I know how resourceful you two can be. It would not surprise me if you fashioned a key out of the chicken bones…” he giggled. “I have been carrying with me that Chateau Rothschild for _months_ just waiting for this opportunity to come. That is your favorite, is it not, Mr. West?”

“It is,” said Jim. “Paired well with the chicken.”

“So you did enjoy the meal! Excellent! Though I must say I’m surprised. Sheriff McNulty told me it had dropped right on the floor…” Loveless clicked his tongue. “I thought you had more class than to eat poultry off the ground…”

Jim was smirking, his gaze steady on his nemesis, his chest expanding with a deep breath. “What can I say? I’m a growing boy.”

Loveless burst into a fit of laughter from deep within, tickled absolutely pink. “How I missed your wit, Mr. West!”

Artie was more or less invisible at the moment, and all he could think about was the moon that would rise in a matter of hours.

“If you don’t mind…” Artemus said graciously. “Can we get to the point here? What are you doing here and why?”

All amusement dripped away into a venomous scowl as Dr. Loveless looked up at Artie. “If you absolutely _must_ know, Mr. Gordon, I have situated myself quite well here…” He lowered his gaze, deftly pulling a pocket watch out of his gleaming waistcoat by its gold fob. “It is widely accepted that this particular part of the mountain range does not contain any valuable lode of gold. It is accepted, but it is not the truth. You see, Colonel Strauss has been a very naughty boy and has been overseeing a considerable mining operation in these very canyons. Gold and silver veins run through these rocks. He didn’t want the attention, lacked the manpower and the equipment and… well, seeing as Randolph and I are old friends, he reached me through my many contacts. I helped him to create a means to mine the ore so expeditiously, with so few men, that wealth and power are the only inevitable conclusion…” As he spoke, he never took his eyes off his watch, and suddenly he raised a finger. “Ah! Listen!”

At that very moment, the house rumbled, porcelain and glass clinking around them, a chandelier swinging, and a low, distant roar of some mythical beast outside of town that disturbed the wildlife. Loveless was grinning widely.

“That, gentlemen, is the key to my success here. Randolph, rightfully impressed with my work, tried to double cross me and take it all for himself.”

“And that worked out badly for Randolph, I’m sure,” Jim said simply.

“Rightly so, Mr. West…” Loveless said with a firm nod, his lips puckering a little with emphasis. “I’ve been called many unsavory things, but I am not a double dealer. I have honor!”

The man’s definition of honor was dubious at best, and Artie looked to Jim, hoping to catch his eye and share that silent sentiment. But Jim’s eyes were still on Loveless.

“So you built a machine,” Jim concluded.

“Yes,” Loveless smiled proudly. “And I would very much like to show it to you before I have to kill you. Cordelia?”

The bustle of the red head’s dress rustled as she moved closer, her hands demurely behind her back as she stood in front of the government agents, a rather lovely—and Artie suspected very deadly—smile. And he was right. Her hands moved with lightning speed and Artie felt a pinch at his shoulder. Sure enough, she had a hat pin in each man, which she removed and calmly walked away with. That pinch of a poke quickly began to burn, then immediately numb and he knew what would follow.

The room spun, then went black.

* * *

Jim opened his eyes with a familiar ache behind them, the kind that was induced from drugs. Cordelia had stabbed him and Artie with poisoned hat pins, which were more than enough in length and strength to puncture through the layers of their clothes. He wasn’t surprised when he looked down and saw a rope around his chest pinning him down, and when he moved his arms, his wrists were rubbed by the rope that bound them together behind his back. He was also missing every article of clothing from the waist up, shirtless and exposed in the damp and chilled air. He was vertical, tied to something like a pole or a tree or…

No, they were in a very vast cave, it was well lit all around by torches and lanterns, and as his eyes began to focus, he could see the crumbled wall that gleamed with gold deposits, and sitting silent before it, a mechanical monstrosity teeming with steam pipes, hoses, gears, and at the head of it a grinding apparatus that dwarfed your average surrey with the fringe on top. His head was pounding and in spite of the cold air, he was sweating enough to think he was in a sauna. His heart was erratic and he had such a buzzing in his ears. More than anything he was _so hungry_. His stomach was tight and his limbs were vibrating. He had felt this before, this agitation, this itch. It was like he had thousands of scorpions crawling just under his skin, waiting to sting.

“Jim, that you?” Artie’s voice was right behind him and facing the other way.

Jim stretched his arms enough that his fingers brushed another hand. “Yeah, Artie.”

Clearly Artie couldn’t see the machine at his vantage point.

“Where’s Loveless?” his partner asked.

Jim strained to look left and right, and all he could see was an empty mine, not a soul in sight. “I don’t know, I just came to…”

There was a beat, in which Jim could hear Artie taking in one breath. “In spite of everything, James… I’m glad we had this _bonding_ experience.”

“Me too, Artie…. Hey, Artie?”

“Yes, Jim?”

“I’m lookin’ at a rather impressive machine that seems to be designed for drilling…”

“Now when you say ‘ _machine_ ’….?”

“He is exactly right, Mr. Gordon, that it is a machine…” Loveless’s voice echoed out in the chamber of the cave.

He walked out into their view swinging a cane, with a small entourage, Cordelia at his left, a few thugs trailing behind. Sheriff McNulty and Vargas were absent, no doubt to keep an eye on things in town.

“I regret that I had to remove your shirts and jackets, gentlemen… We searched you as well as we could, but I am not in a mood to take chances. Not even with that tea spoon that you had in your pocket, Mr. Gordon… It’s rather chilly in here, but you won’t live long enough to suffer from any cold you might catch…”

Losing his shirt was old hat for Jim, to the point that he couldn’t even bat an eye when it happened. But the fact that Artie was also stripped down and disarmed in the same way made his jaw tighten a little.

“Now!” Loveless clapped his hands with a wide smile. “What do you think, gentlemen?” He swept the air with his hand, a proud smile on his face.

“I couldn’t tell you…” Artie grumbled.

“My apologies, Mr. Gordon… I should have constrained you in a better position to admire my work. Though I’m sure you can take Mr. West’s word for it. It is, as you said, impressive, isn’t it, Mr. West?”

Jim looked to the machine again, to silently observe it for a moment before glancing back down to Loveless, to play it cool even though his skin felt like it didn’t fit.

“It’s alright, as far as giant drilling machines go.”

As he had hoped that brought a flash of indignation on Loveless’s youthful face. “ _Alright_?! I’ll have you know this is the only one of it’s kind! It’s innovative and momentous!”

Jim canted his head to look at the monster machine once more. “Well, if it’s one of a kind, then I don’t really have any point of reference, do I?”

“Now you’re getting too smart, Mr. West, and I’m not amused anymore… This machine has the capability to drill through mountains! Not only will I be able to acquire all of the gold of these hills and canyons, but my plans are already well underway to drill an entire network of tunnels all through the Sierra Nevada, which I will have armed with gun powder and trustworthy men, and I will be able to take back my family’s land once and for all! With the gold in my possession, and the resources that I shall control, I will acquire vast allies throughout the territories and in Mexico! If I control the mountains, I will also control the government’s power in these territories, I will have closed off the West to their control!”

While Dr. Loveless spouted his plan and usual rage, Jim wasn’t idle. Of course, from where Loveless could see him the agent was cool as a cucumber. His hands, meanwhile, were relentlessly at work trying to twist free from the ropes. Without his sharp ring, knife, or rope eating acid, he was a little at a loss.

“I’ll show you the power of this machine, which, incidentally, is scheduled to be drilling in exactly this direction…” He pointed at their feet with a wicked smile. “Henry! Will you take the controls and await my signal, please?”

A burly man with a beard nodded and quickly complied.

“Ah, just a moment, doctor!” Jim said sharply, and with a little more alarm than he meant to. “Before you kill us, would you mind giving the time?”

Ever polite, Dr. Loveless took out his pocket watch again. “One minute to one quarter of an hour to six.”

5:44. Jim appreciated the specification, because according to Artie’s calculations of the lunar cycle, it was set to rise at exactly 5:56 tonight. That was only minutes away, they were unconscious through more of the day than he thought and he felt the pull of alarm.

“Why do you need to know the time?” Loveless was squinting at him, not veiling his suspicions.

“Loveless, you need to release us this very moment!” Artemus growled over his shoulder.

“No, Artie! No, it’s fine, I’d rather stay right here, actually…” Jim tried to look over his shoulder, but he couldn’t see his friend.

These ropes were tight and very strong. Maybe they could contain the wolf and no one would get hurt. Even if Artie was still tied up, maybe he would still be safe.

“Jim, we don’t know if these ropes can handle it…”

“We don’t have a choice, Artie, there’s not enough time to get out of here. Besides, they took your jacket and your spoon.”

“Yes, why was there a spoon in your jacket?” Dr. Loveless was inching forward, frowning with curiosity. “What are you two blathering about?”

Jim could feel the man’s agitation at being out of the loop. Though that wasn’t Jim’s intention, there was something satisfying about having his nemesis in the dark.

“You don’t want to know, doctor… But if you want to live, you’ll postpone trying to kill us with that drill until tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t tell me you have some… some… some explosive or other concealed on you?” Loveless looked him up and down. “Where would you even put it? Those pants don’t even have pockets!”

Jim wasn’t about to mention his boot heels.

“Explosives would be the least of your worries,” said Artie.

Now Loveless was stomping away from Jim to speak to Artie. “What are you talking about? I demand to know! Stop playing games!”

“A man of your high intellect wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Artie said flatly.  
  
Loveless stomped the rock ground. “If you think you can scare me into not activating that drill, then you are sorely mistaken!”

Sounds were fading around Jim. The echoing voices and sounds were becoming far away, and all he could hear was his own pulse pounding in his ear like some tribal drum, and he couldn’t catch his breath. He was heaving for air, suffocating, burning, the ropes practically cutting into his bare chest, the sweat beading off of him.

“Artie…” he could hardly say his friend’s name. The moon was rising. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it in his bones and blood and it was filling him like mercury, drowning him out and replacing him with something much more dangerous.

The pain was rising, and his heart was beating so loud through his head, he didn’t even hear himself scream.

* * *

“Jim?”

Artemus had never heard such sounds of anguish from Jim before, no matter what torture or violence he had suffered. And it was no wonder, since he could hear and feel the concussions of the horror of his body changing, even though he couldn’t see it. What he could see was Loveless’s face as he stepped away amazed and horrified. And Artie could feel the ropes around them both getting pulled so tightly that it was crushing him, squeezing the air out of him with every thrash from his partner as he transformed.

Cordelia screamed, Loveless’s men yelled out, and all but Loveless himself ran from the room.

“Run for your life, you fool!” Artie had to shout over the sounds of cracking bones and canine growling.

“It’s… It’s a trick!” Loveless’s voice was shaking.

Artie had a quip on the tip of his tongue, but another pull from the wolf behind him squeezed all the air out of his lungs, his ribs giving a small crack.

“It’s… not a trick…” he grunted. “The moon’s risen!”

“A werewolf?!” Loveless stated it with appalled neutrality, as any scientist may state a fact without yet knowing all the evidence to prove it.

Artie could hear the beast’s jaws snapping through the air as it fought against its bonds, its feet scraping the ground. He could now feel fur brushing against him where he had felt skin before. Artie looked to the ceiling of the mine.

“Lord, let these ropes hold till morning… if they don’t crush me alive first…”

As he was looking at the ceiling, he could just make out in the torchlight that there were wooden support beams running across it, and connected to one of them a vertical beam… which they were currently tied to.

“How do we kill it?” Loveless was surprisingly fearless, though he stood as if ready for a fight, drawing a blade from his cane and pointing the sharp end at them.

The wolf would swallow him whole, if the cow of Denver was any indication of its appetites.

“Silver…” Artemus grunted. “A bullet probably…”

Rocks trickled from the ceiling and Artie looked up again. Every time the wolf thrashed, that beam wiggled a little bit more.

“He’s going to bring down the whole mine…” he said under his breath. “Loveless, listen to me… This whole place is about to come down on us. If you want to live to fight another day, you’ll get out of here now!”

“And leave James West behind when he has just become so much more interesting? Oh no, Mr. Gordon…” Dr. Loveless laughed, albeit with quakes in his usually melodic voice, his eyes wide. “This isn’t just a gold mine, you know… There are silver veins in here as well. I wonder if the unrefined material has any affect on him. Shall we experiment, Mr. Gordon?”

“I wish you wouldn’t while I’m attached to him…” he gasped when the wolf pulled at the ropes again.

Perhaps that was why the creature was fighting extra hard, it was surrounded by silver. Under any other circumstance, he might have begrudgingly shared in Dr. Loveless’s scientific curiosity about the silver, but he could practically feel his stomach and lungs being forced up into his throat.

Loveless was scurrying away, to where Artie couldn’t see from here.

“Jim, you gotta calm down…”

The wolf snapped its jaws, and he felt its hot breath gust against the back of his ear.

“Jim! It’s me, Artemus! I know you’re in there, buddy, and you’re probably listening, even if you don’t remember… If you keep fighting the way you are, you’re going to get us both killed!”

It was all for naught. The wolf didn’t so much as slow down in its fight and the beam was wiggling more and more. All Artie could do was dig his heels in the ground and brace against the beam in some sliver of hope that it would keep the thing from coming down with the rest of the mine. More rocks and dirt were raining down. It was clear this wasn’t going to hold up until morning.

And he was right.

The beam suddenly moved freely, breaking from where it was attached at the ceiling and crashing to the ground, with Artie and the wolf along with it. Boulders were falling now. There wasn’t any choice left.

Artie, without any shirt to speak of, couldn’t rely on the arsenal of tools that he kept in his jacket, waistcoat, or shirt. So he dipped his fingers into the waist band of his pants instead where he had hidden pockets of small syringes. With deft fingers, he held on tight in spite of the animal fighting against his back, growling and barking with ferocity. Artie pushed the plunger of the syringe, releasing the rope-eating acid onto the bonds. The burning smell filled the air, but didn’t overwhelm the unfortunate smell of dog. It only took seconds for the wolf to snap the compromised ropes.

In its scramble to get to its feet, it tangled itself, buying Artie just enough time to slip out of the bonds and run as fast as he could towards where he thought the exit must me. Rocks were still falling, and down came a torrent of them. The ceiling of the mine came dropping down behind Artemus, the dirt and debris flying and plunging everything into darkness.

He was coughing painfully, dust in his crushed lungs and in his sinuses, the cave in settling around him and eventually quieting. He couldn’t hear anything. No wolf, no Loveless.

“Jim!” He screamed as loud as his body would allow, and his voice hit a solid wall. 


	8. Chapter 8

There was now a solid wall of rock between him and Jim, so thick that he couldn’t even hear what was happening on the other side. He dug his fingers into the waistline of his pants where he had stitched in some explosive wire. No, it was only good for cutting through bars. It was no where near the firepower he needed to get through the rock. All of his weapons and tools had been in his shirt, waistcoat, and jacket. He suddenly wished he fashioned himself with the same boot heels he had designed for Jim, but he wasn’t as good as his partner at walking in three inch heels.

“Jim!” he called again, uselessly.

His mind was racing with panic, but he took deep breaths and calmed himself. Think, Artie, think! That cavern had another entrance, Dr. Loveless had come through it. All he had to do was find it. In the direction opposite of the collapse, there was light dissipated through the air that was heavy with dust. It meant there was torches or lanterns somewhere. He followed it. At first it was all rock and dirt, but as the light grew brighter, the air a little clearer, there was now iron tracks on the ground. He followed them until he came to a fork of two pathways. The tracks continued down one way, no doubt leading outside for loading and unloading of ore. The other trackless path, however, was where the light was coming from. He followed that.

Without so much as a gun or a big stick, he stepped more lightly. He was sure he heard something, a breath and a scuffle of footsteps. Then there was a voice, low and incoherent, but definitely a man. As Artemus rounded the bend in the tunnel, he saw the opening framed by wood, that led into a room. It had bars. 

Once he noticed this was a cell he was less worried about approaching it and he looked inside. There were a few candles inside that allowed for light, but this jail was furnished like an office. There was a rug over the harsh rocky floor, a mahogany desk, and a small but soft looking bed. Sitting at the desk was an older man, his black suit formal but a little dusty looking. Artie could only see his back, but he suspected he knew who this was.

“Colonel Randolph Strauss?”

The old man started and turned sharply around, his gaunt face looked almost vacantly at Artemus, a long wiry gray beard frayed out from his jaw. “I am. What do you want? Who are you? Where is your shirt, it’s winter, you damn fool!”

Artie was numb to the bone. “I am painfully aware of that, sir… My name is Artemus Gordon, Secret Service. The President received your letter.”

The suspicion on the man’s face smoothed into immediate relief and he stood from his chair, letting it fall over. “Thank God in Heaven! You have to get me out of here, Mr. Gordon! That little mad man has kept me locked in here for… I don’t even know how long! Dr. Loveless has the key, you must get it from him!”

“Colonel Strauss, can you help me find my way through these tunnels?”

“Of course I can. I’ll lead you out once you free me.

Artemus moved nearer to help the colonel, but stopped with sudden realization. “I’m… afraid I will have to leave you in here a moment longer, sir… For your own safety.”

“What are you talking about? Get me out of here this instant!”

Artemus shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s something much worse out here on this side of the bars… I give you my word that I’ll come back for you! But for now, you need to tell me how to get to where they have the machine.”

“In order to get to it from here you need to go up one level, there’s a ladder just down the tunnel… Then it the left tunnel from there, and then a right, and then you will come to the ladder that will take you to the top of the stope that leads into the main cave… You swear you’ll come back for me?”

“On my life, Colonel…. Thanks!” and he ran down the tunnel. It was a good thing he was moving so much, otherwise he might freeze to death with no shirt on. How did Jim function like this?

He followed the Colonel’s directions perfectly, and sure enough he came to the stope that led down into the tunnel. The lights were still lit, he could see the machine where its monstrous drill faced the wall, and the pile of rubble where the cave had collapsed. There wasn’t a soul in sight. And from up here, he couldn’t even see a smudge of blood. He didn’t even hear screams, growls, or howls. Where was everyone? 

He hurried back the way he came and found Colonel Strauss clutching the bars and looking out eagerly.

“Did you find Loveless? Did you get the key from him? I hope you shot that lunatic dead!”

“That won’t be necessary, Colonel..” Artie was already slipping his fingers into the back of his pants. “Keys or killing, that is.”

“What in the blue tarnation are you doing?”

The explosive wire seemed to have slipped, and Artie smiled sheepishly as he had to dig a little deeper into his trousers to get it. Finally, he pinched it between two fingers and pulled out the wire, holding it up for Colonel Strauss to see. He went quickly to work attaching the stuff to the lock, which was the only point where the bars were locked. He wrapped it close.

“May I borrow one of your candlesticks, sir?”

Strauss he handed over a candlestick between the bars without question.

“You may want to stand back, sir…” Artie waited until the old man complied, then he set the flame to the end of the wire and stepped back.

There was a flash as it lit up almost instantaneously, white smoke bursting from it as it chewed through the bars in a flash. He waved away the smoke and gave the bars a sharp tug. They cracked on the fractured iron and swung open with a groan on their hinges. Colonel Strauss wasted no time and scurried out of his cell. 

“I need to get you safe, sir… Then I have to find my partner. He’s around here somewhere, and I don’t know if he is in more danger or if Dr. Loveless is.”

“In danger from what? What is going on here?”

“I don’t know if you would believe me, sir…”

Artie led the way through the tunnels, finding his way back to the tracks where he followed them out into the moonlight. The night air hit like ice, and he immediately slapped his arms around his bare torso.

“What happened to your shirt anyway, young man?”

Artie almost thanked him for calling him a young man, but a violent shiver over took him. “Loveless took it upon himself to deprive me of it… Which way is town from here, Colonel?”

The old man looked up the canyons that were outlined by the silver light of the moon. Once he seemed to have his bearings he pointed the way. They walked and hiked for nearly two hours before they were finally at the town. The old man was gasping for air, but had fortitude enough to keep moving and not complain. An old soldier, indeed.l And all the while, things were as quiet as ever in the surrounding desert.

Usually he would hear that low, mournful howl of the wolf by now. He couldn’t tell if he was relieved or more terrified to not hear it. Artemus took Strauss to the opulent hotel, where there was no concierge, so he helped himself to the keys and locked the Colonel in one of the second floor rooms. There he would be able to refresh, rest, and hopefully remain safe. Artie suggested he avoid lighting any lamps or candles, lest he drew attention to himself.

“Mr. Gordon, just a moment…” Colonel Strauss stopped him before he walked out of the hotel room. “If you are going looking for Dr. Loveless, you should know that he had made that mine his base of operations for all these months. With that machine of his, he had drilled so many tunnels and means of escape. He had one in particular on the third level down from where you found me. The tunnel was long and wide, it goes right under the town and comes out a few miles east, though I don’t know where exactly. If he’s suddenly vanished, I would bet he’s made a run for it through there.”

“Thank you, Colonel…”

“Good luck, Mr. Gordon. I’ll wire the president to give a report on the situation.”

From there, Artemus went to the mercantile and found himself a shirt and coat. He would have left money if he had any on him, but the last thing he wanted was to do Vargas any favors. This was a war zone as far as he was concerned, and he had no guilt in raiding the wares for weapons and tools. He armed himself with a six shooter with a belt of extra cartridges, and he even found what seemed to be sterling silver buckles. It would have to do in a pinch. 

He went out into the night to find Dr. Loveless, the werewolf or Jim. He returned to the mine with a lantern. He searched the tunnels, each and every level that seemed to exist. It was in one such tunnel that he tripped on something… Well, it was a piece of something, and near by was a stump of a torso with a sheriff’s badge glinting in the lantern light. Looked like Sheriff McNulty met with the wolf. Dear God, did it eat Dr. Loveless whole?

He wanted to shout into the tunnels, so that those monstrous wolf ears could hear him and come running for better or worse. But one loud noise could always trigger another collapse. He didn’t know how stable this mine was. All he knew was that if he wanted to find the long stretch of tunnel that Colonel Strauss was talking about, he had to keep going down every stope and every ladder.

With a gun in one hand, the lantern in another, the air was heavy with the depth of the earth around him, everything cold. But he got a distinct whiff of animal, and as he pressed further, he recognized it easily as horses. As if there had been a whole stable down here. Sure enough, he came across hay and stalls, and following the hoof prints in the clay below his feet, he came to a wider cavern large enough to house a full wagon. Obviously that was exactly what was kept here, for there were two parallel lines of wheels stretching out into the blackness of the cave. And following those tracks were massive wolf prints.

The wolf must have chased Loveless in his wagon down that tunnel, and they were already too far for the sound to carry. Artie knew he couldn’t hope to catch up them on foot. He didn’t even know where this tunnel came out, and by the time he could find a way to get his own horse this far underground to pursue, they would have emerged on the other side and been long gone. 

Though he suspected it was useless, he pulled out a compass from his pocket to try to confirm that this was indeed going East. But the needle was dancing far too much, the ore deposits around here were throwing it off. There must have been some iron with the gold and silver here. Or maybe it was the iron machinery that Loveless was so fond of. Hell, he wouldn’t put it past the madman to have deliberately placed mechanisms that could interfere with a compass. Growling quietly, he put it back into his pocket and stared out into the endless black.

“How the hell am I supposed to follow you this time, Jim?” he said under his breath.

* * *

“Well… It looks as though Mr. West is finally coming around…”

That sounded like Dr. Loveless, a hundred miles away perhaps, but Loveless nonetheless. As he was coming to, and he was somewhat aware that even though he was lying down, he was moving. It was rocky, jarring, and his head was lying on something silky with frills. A feminine hand was petting his hair, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Loveless sitting across from him, a top hat on his head, a cane in one hand a cigar in the other, a charming smile on his face.

Jim blinked and turned his head to look up, and there he saw the bodice and beautiful face of Cordelia.

Obviously, he was kidnapped, and as always, how he got here was fuzzy.

“Where are we going…?” he asked quietly, his tongue feeling fat in his mouth.

“Don’t concern yourself,” Loveless puffed on a cigar. “You’re safe in our hands, Mr. West, that much I can promise you.”

He was never safe with Loveless, and in that moment his last memory flashed into his mind. He was tied up in that gold mine at El Jarra, back to back with Artie.

_Artie!_

He sat up suddenly and looked around the small space of the carriage. It was just the three of them. Where was Artie?

The windows were blocked, the curtains fastened down so securely no light could escape in or out. He had no way to tell what time of day it was, if it was night, or what direction they were traveling in.

He rubbed at his eyes but paused when he looked down at himself. He was fully dressed, but in a suit that did not belong to him. It was well tailored, form fitting like anything he would order for himself, made from a fine burgundy color. He liked the color on Artie, but wasn’t fond of it for himself. The waistcoat was a fine brocade of chestnut.

“What do you think?” Loveless asked, still with that smile. “I had it tailored just for you, I hope you don’t mind. Blues and grays bring out your eyes, but I thought a warmer palette was more suitable for the occasion.”

Not that it would matter if he did mind. If there was one thing Jim had to hand to Loveless, it was his taste.

“If you check the pockets, you’ll find I supplied you with a cigar for yourself. A perfectly normal one, I assure you…”

Jim kept his eyes on Loveless as he slowly reached inside of the inner pocket of the bolero. Sure enough, there was a cigar. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea at all, though he was more thirsty than anything. He put the cigar back.

“I could use a drink, actually…” he settled back into the seat and glanced to Cordelia who sat coyly beside him. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping for hours…”

“Twenty hours, as a matter of fact… We’re halfway to our destination already. Cordelia, the brandy if you please.”

The redhead leaned forward and lifted the seat beside Loveless, pulling out a bottle and then three glasses. With surprising finesse in a jostling carriage, she managed to pour a glass for each man then herself, and return the bottle to its secret compartment without spilling a drop. 

Loveless held up his drink for a silent toast, and Jim courteously returned the favor.

Jim didn’t drink, though. Instead he waited for Loveless and Cordelia to sip from their glasses.

“Where’s Artemus Gordon?” he asked coldly.

Loveless sighed and looked at Jim with utter disapproval. “I think you two would do well to have some time apart. You’ll thank me later.”

“ _Where is he?_ ”

“Oh, he is right where we left him in El Jarra. What’s left of him anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Jim asked slowly, daring Loveless to elaborate.

“You know, Mr. West… of all the surprises I’ve had from you, being a werewolf is the last thing I ever would have considered! It’s an absolute dream for science! To think that under the light of a full moon, when the moon is past its meridian, a man could transform into some animal abomination and kill the person most dear to him? No matter how much Mr. Gordon begged and screamed, you were _voracious_ , Mr. West…”

Dr. Loveless was giggling with sheer delight.

“You’re lying.”

“Moi?” Loveless touched his chest with insult. “After all the respect we’ve garnered between us and you think so poorly of me…”

The denial left Jim numb. To let himself believe it for even a second was unthinkable. And yet, his hand was shaking it was closed so tightly into a fist. “I won’t believe it if I don’t see a body.”

“There was no body left when you were done with him, Mr. West, and even if there was it would not change your situation…” Dr. Loveless’s voice sharpened. “You are mine now. I have claimed you for science.”

“To what end? This curse on me isn’t something you can control, Loveless. It will get you or other people killed. For your own sake, you’d put a silver bullet in my head right now.”

“And waste that beautiful suit that I gave you? No… Whatever disease is on you to cause this transforming will either be cured or harnessed by me…” There it was. That mad gleam in the good doctor’s eye. “Besides, do you think I could allow some supernatural inconvenience to take away _my_ pleasure in beating you? Or allow it to give you even more of an advantage over me? This is a challenge—and affront to me and I will not let it lie. Either you will be made a normal human being again so that you may die by my hand, or I will use your curse to my advantage.”

There really were opportunities here. Jim couldn’t very well disqualify the fact that if anyone in this lawless land could cure something as impossible as lycanthropy, it would be Dr. Miguelito Quixote Loveless. He had the genius, and he had the connections. And if it was true that Artie really was dead… then all Jim had to do was get a gun or a grip on the good doctor’s neck and he’d have his revenge. In a very rare occasion, Jim found himself highly cooperative. Though his eyes shot daggers across the small space of the carriage towards Loveless, Jim relaxed into his seat, dipped his hand into his coat, and took out the cigar. He put it between his teeth.

Loveless, with that charming smile of his, offered a match.


	9. Chapter 9

The town of Galway, Nevada was topped with a thin layer of white as the snow silently fell on top of it. It was presumed that this was the last snow to be had before the weather would begin to warm. It meant slow business for hotels, when so few people were traveling between towns. So the concierge of the Galway Hotel was stirred from his idle newspaper reading when a weary, white-haired traveler came hobbling into the lobby.

“Welcome, sir, welcome!” the middle-aged concierge ran around the desk to the bent over little man who was struggling to drag a bulging suitcase. “Here, let me take that for you, sir… Were you traveling in that cold weather by yourself? No stagecoach was due here…”

“Eh?” The old man had to pull back the scarf that was tied around his head, under his hat and over his ears. “You talkin’ to me, boy?”

“How did you come into Galway, sir?”

“My wagon, o’ course!”

The concierge leaned to look more closely at the suitcase. The side of it had worn letters painted on.

DOC REDWINE’S MEDICINE SHOW

A traveling doctor and performer… wonderful.

“Now… Listen, eh, _doctor_ , we’ve had your type here before. If you think you can trade some snake oil for a room, then—”

The old man snapped his attention to the concierge. “Snake oil?! Trade?! What kinda lowdown bushwacker do you think I am? I got money as good as any other man!” His wiry, pointy beard flapped as he spoke, knobby hands reaching into his jacket and pulling out his pocket book. It was thick with bills.

“My apologies, sir, my apologies!” the concierge gladly took his suitcase after that.

A quick trip to the desk and the guest book was opened, the key ready to be handed over, all the amenities offered of bath and bug-free lodging. As the concierge went over the hotel rules, Doc Redwine was studying the nearly empty page of the guest book. There were only two other names, both of them already checked out weeks ago.

“Get a lotta guests, do ya?” asked the old man.

“Haven’t had any in three weeks,” said the concierge.

“That’s funny… I talked to a fella in Creekside named Baily who was tellin’ me about this hotel. Said he stayed here on the fifteenth, I see his name right there, but he’s the only guest for that day. Said he had a peculiar neighbor here who was proper but occasionally loud. Which was even more peculiar because he described him as bein’, well, closer to the ground than yer average fella. That is to say, he was very short.”

The concierge was suddenly blinking more, and swallowing often, his fingers twitching. “That’s strange, indeed. Sounds like a fiction, we’ve never had any guests here that fit that description.” He was lying.

“Funny that he said he had guests, but this here guest book shows he ain’t had any…” The old man set down a fifty dollar bill. Then another. “You sure you can’t remember nothin’…?”

The concierge licked his lips at the bills, temptation eating at him but not winning. “W-well, no… I can’t be bought into telling you something that I don’t know, sir.” 

The old man snapped his pocket book closed. His stooped shoulders suddenly squared and he rose a whole foot taller, eye level to the concierge.

“Now you listen here…” The old man’s voice lost its creakiness. It was now smooth, low, and decidedly lethal. “I’ve been to five towns across three territories following this lead, and you lie about as well as a toddler covered in cookie crumbs. I’m going to ask you straight this time. Did Dr. Loveless stay in this hotel?”

The concierge was baffled, but increasingly afraid. “D-doctor who?”

An arm snapped across the desk, a fist gripping into his jacket and yanking him forward, ferocity in the dark brown eyes of the stranger. There was a loud click as the hammer was pulled on a gun, the freezing cold barrel of the six shooter touching the chin of the concierge.

“Doctor Miguelito Quixote Loveless.” 

“Alright! Yes! He was here! He pays well for me to let him stay here once in awhile, off the books!”

“Did he say where he was headed from here?”

“He doesn’t tell me anything!”

“You’re a hotel clerk, you make everyone’s business your your own… I’m sure you at least dropped some eaves and heard something.”

“I swear, I haven’t heard anything!”

“I could probably jog your memory.” The barrel pushed against bone.

“I overheard him talking to a lady companion, said something about someone named Professor Van Der Meer! I don’t know anything else!”

He was shaking and sweating, eking out every last bit of truth he had and desperately wishing he _had_ eavesdropped more. The gun clicked as the hammer was put back down and the gun was lowered. The stranger let go and stepped back from the desk.

“Now I believe you.” Any mannerisms of a feeble snake oil salesman was gone as he picked up the massive suitcase with ease and headed for the door.

Artie wasn’t proud of himself. He made a point of navigating the dangerous waters with his guile and his cunning, but he was at his wits’ end. When it came to Jim, he wasn’t afraid to beat a man within an inch of his life, and after weeks of hunting for information, he finally had a lead.

Professor Van Der Meer.

Assuming the title was genuine, there would only be so many people in the world with that name and distinction. He drove his medicine show wagon back to the _Wanderer_ and immediately wired Washington, requesting a list of Van Der Meers.

Then he could do nothing but wait, and it was painful. He paced along the length of the parlor car, desperately trying not to think about how empty it was, how empty it had been without Jim there. He couldn’t stand it, and all he knew was that it was his fault for letting Loveless get away in the first place. If Jim was still alive, Artie didn’t have great hopes that he was well.

_If Loveless hurt him, so help me…_

TICK. TICK-TICK-TICK. TICK-TICK. TICK…

He practically flew to the telegraph, grabbed a pencil and began to write. They were sending the list of Van Der Meers with doctorates and without, any who were associated with academia. As they began to list them, Artie wrote them down. It took nearly an hour and his hand was stiff and aching, but finally they came to the last name. Thirteen Van Der Meers west of the Mississippi.

The telegraph ended and he put down the pencil to massage his hand. He pulled out his map and began to plan his route. He was going to find them all.

* * *

This had become routine. They laid him out on a table, pinned him down with manacles, wrists above his head, ankles spread, a metal bar over his bare chest that was always too cold and chafed throughout the hours that they kept him there.

They let him keep his pants on, at least, but boots and shirt were stripped away. The laboratory was never a comfortable temperature, it was always too cold, especially with the anemia he was suffering from due to all the blood that was continually drawn to be tested. Each day he could feel his usually strong body getting depleted. He was determined not to let his captors see it, especially Dr. Loveless, but he and his companion scientist, this Professor Van Der Meer, were observant.

“How are we feeling today, Herr West?” Van Der Meer asked, his words thick with a Germanic accent.

“Oh, just fine,” he said lightly, as if sitting down for a shave and a haircut. Both of which he had gotten this morning, thanks to Loveless’s _generosity_.

“Very good,” Van Der Meer said distractedly as he leaned over Jim.

Professor Ignatius Van Der Meer, chemist and botanist, was perhaps in his late 60s, skin thinning with age, pulled tightly over strong skeletal structure, but drooping in folds at his jaw and neck. As a young man he must have been a beast, but now he was a little more frail, but still tall. Small, rectangular spectacles were perched on his nose, the top of his head bald and spotted, strangely silky gray hair hanging from around his head down to his shoulders.

Over these weeks that Jim had spent with this distinguished gentleman, the botanist volunteered his whole sordid past of creating hybrid species of flowers and the drugs he could derive from them, some highly specific in their purpose. There was a lucrative—albeit underground—market for drugs that could control minds, cause madness, amnesia, blindness, paralysis, or instantaneous death. 

His fingers were as cold as the manacles as they pried open Jim’s eyelids, taking note of his subject’s eyes and their color, as he always did. He pulled back Jim’s lips to examine his teeth and gums. He then moved his cold fingers to Jim’s wrists, taking his pulse.

“Your bodily signs betray you, Herr West… You are feeling weaker than usual, are you not?”

He was. “Strong as an ox.”

He heard the light, flitting chuckle of Dr. Loveless outside of his field of vision. Loveless was always there. He loved to watch, to see Jim subjugated and used.

“I do hope you are not being dishonest on my account, Mr. West,” said Loveless. After a moment, the small madman appeared, leaning over him from the other side of the table from Van Der Meer. He had his own stool to stand on. “I have been taking very good care of you, haven’t I? Your room is very comfortable…”

“And locked.”

“You have all the amenities of any leading hotel in the country. Plenty of good food and drink— your favorites, too, I might add…”

“Which could be poisoned.”

“Which is _not_ poisoned… We allow you warm baths and a shave with a haircut… Whiskers don’t suit you at all, you know. Which is ironic with all the fur.”

Loveless giggled. Jim didn’t think it was very funny.

“What is most curious about all this,” Loveless went on more seriously. “Is that research has told us that anyone who is cursed with lycanthropy is, for all intents and purposes, immortal. Save for the affects of silver. There are cracks in your armor, Mr. West, and it does lead me to wonder… Were I to allow it, could you perish through starvation or blood loss? Or would your newfound curse prevent you from reaching the salvation of shuffling off your mortal coil?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jim agreed.

He had questioned it himself. He had multiple contingencies to try in the event that his worst fear came true, that he had in fact killed his best friend at the last full moon. 

“I will not allow such tests until I have exhausted all of my trials,” Van Der Meer said to Loveless.

“Of course, Professor, of course…” Loveless waved a dismissive hand. “We have many other things to try first, don’t we, Mr. West? If you’re dead, we’ll never know!”

“But you see, Herr West…” Van Der Meer added as he turned away. Jim could hear him fiddling with objects on a metal tray as he spoke. “For the past seven days, I have been administering into you a drug of my own invention. It is derived from my own hybrid of the aconitum flower. My life’s work has always been botany and their special properties, so when Dr. Loveless contacted me that he had a true lycanthrope, I could not believe my luck!”

Now Jim felt a twinge of concern. In the blur of his time in this lab, he assumed his blood was being taken, nothing more.

“Aconitum… Wolfsbane, right?” He had a superficial knowledge of plants. “What does the drug do?”

“To any normal human being it is, of course, poison,” Van Der Meer shrugged. “Some have used it for homeopathic purposes in small doses, but it is said in lore that it may be the cure to lycanthropy. Sometimes we can only be saved by a poison if it does not kill us first.”

“ _We_ as in _me_ , of course…” Jim exhaled slowly, his eyes on the vaulted wood ceiling. He already knew he was going to be killed or cured. His only regret would be if Loveless out lived him.

The full moon was still days away. Probably. Truth was, he wasn’t quite sure. He had been keeping track to the best of his ability but there were times that he slept for so long without a clock, with no windows, he wasn’t sure where they were in the month and he knew he must have been off by a day or two, which made all the difference.

“Can I ask why you are telling me about the wolfsbane now and not before?”

“We cannot risk turning this drug into a placebo for you… I wanted to see the symptoms before informing you of it. I believe the emaciation you are suffering from is an effect of the drug, but we must test it further to discern if it is affecting your lycanthropic ailment. I wonder if it is possible to induce a transformation?”

Van Der Meer and Loveless were looking at each other now, the gleam of scientific curiosity in their eye. The kind of look that usually ended with Jim in anguish.

“We could try testing his appetites,” Loveless suggested mischievously. “We have a roast duck in the kitchen now waiting to be served for dinner. Or, perhaps a fresh kill would awaken the beast, with all the disgusting blood and entrails! There are other appetites, of course. I’ve seen the way that Mr. West and Cordelia look at one another…”

Van Der Meer was stroking his beard with one hand, the other holding a filled syringe in the other. “We have yet to use the electrocution device.”

“I vote we try the appetites thing,” Jim interjected with a sweet smile, but his heart was pounding harder.

“You would,” Loveless smiled down at him. “This would be as good a time as any to inform you that this is not, in fact, a democracy and you do not get a vote. No, Mr. West, this is a long overdue purgatory for you. You had your lifetime of glory, aptitude, and perfection. There will be no cunning or daring escape for you this time. Nor can you expect your dear departed Mr. Gordon to come save you. You have lost this time, and you will live long enough to see how I will take this curse from you and use it to my advantage. Yes, I could rule the world with such a power!”

“You’ll just get more people killed,” Jim said steadily, though his anger was beginning to surface.

He tried not to think about the lie that he had killed Artie. He tried not to think about the fact that when he awoke after that last transformation, he had that unmistakable metallic taste behind his teeth from eating something bloody, or that every night since then he had flashes of dreams or memories of tearing a full grown man to pieces. But it couldn’t have been Artie.

“Or you’ll just get yourself killed,” he added as a promise.

“You fail to realize, Mr. West…” he gestured calmly to Van Der Meer as he spoke. “… that at this very moment, and for _your_ foreseeable future, I am completely in control.”

Van Der Meer brought the syringe to Jim’s bicep, jabbing it in without warning or ceremony and pushing the plunger. The stab in his arm hurt like hell, but he bit it down with little more than a tightening around his mouth. Consciously he knew the wolfsbane poison was being carried through his bloodstream this very moment, but he felt nothing.

“Professor…” Loveless said sweetly to his comrade. “Would you like the honor of retrieving the electrodes?”

Van Der Meer had just set down the empty syringe, bowed a little at the waist, and disappeared from Jim’s line of sight. Loveless, meanwhile, had that affecting smile as he looked down his nose at Jim.

“If I am to be honest with you… There has yet to be any indication in our studies of you that electricity could have any correlation to the lunar effect on you. In fact…” he was giggling now. “It bears no relevance at all on this study, aside from my sheer, unbridled _pleasure_ in seeing you experience a fraction of lightning stabbing through your immaculate body!”

Jim had to lift his chin to look up at where his hands were manacled over his head. Clamps were being placed on the manacles, and connected to them, long, coiling wires that led to a humming machine somewhere that Jim couldn’t see. Against his preference, he was sweating now.

“Here…” Loveless had what looked like a horse’s bit, wrapped with a leather strap. “You may want to bite down on this or you might shatter your perfect teeth.”

That was the last straw. He gave up on the brave face and complacency. He pulled hard at the manacles, arching his back to test the strength of the bar over his chest, pulling his legs and straining the manacles at his ankles. They all held firm. Loveless laughed at his futile effort. Van Der Meer threw the switch.


	10. Chapter 10

Cordelia’s role here was open to interpretation. She was following Dr. Miguelito Loveless to the ends of the earth, she owed him her life after he had helped her get out of an abusive marriage through divorce. A divorce of her husband and his life, that is. She had never felt so free and appreciated as she did with Miguelito, and he brought her along with him on his latest venture to secure money and power.

He had mentioned to her more than once that every campaign he had ever embarked on was unfairly cut short by two very specific men in the employment of the President, an Artemus Gordon and a James West. Gordon was only worth mentioning in as far as he was a man of scientific thinking like Loveless himself. But it was West whom Loveless spent the most breath talking about. A ruffian in dandy’s clothes who relished in violence and destruction, who was clever but lacked imagination to fully appreciate all of the brilliance of Dr. Loveless. What Miguelito failed to mention to her was that Mr. West was _gorgeous_. When she first saw him in El Jarra, she didn’t believe that this was the same ruffian that Miguelito was talking about. 

Now that they had him captive in the isolated mansion of Professor Van Der Meer, she volunteered to look after the government agent when he wasn’t being experimented on. Miguelito agreed, tolerating her obvious infatuation with him. Of course, he was sure to warn her thoroughly that James West had a silver tongue and manipulated every young woman who fell under his gaze. Cordelia did not think she would mind a little manipulation from him.

For weeks and weeks he was subjected to some of the more harrowing experiments and tortures. There were times that Cordelia actually questioned how long she could stand by and watch Miguelito exact revenge through scientific experimentation. It was after one such long, long night of torture that she was bringing some dinner to Mr. West. 

Mr. West was given one of the nicer suites of the mansion, a spacious room with a large canopied bed, all the essential furniture, including a refreshed wash bin and a window that overlooked the courtyard. The window was barred, of course, the door locked with three iron bolts. It was comfortable but impenetrable, and they were careful not to keep anything in there that he could fashion into an escape device. According to Miguelito, he had that resourceful way about him. It would be a lie to say she wasn’t curious about it.

She entered the dark room quietly, balancing the tray against her hip as she slowly turned up the gas on the light. Now she could see him on the bed. He was right where she left him six hours ago, and he didn’t look as though he had moved a hair. Setting the tray onto the table beside the bed, she slid onto the edge of the mattress and studied him for a moment. He really did have a boyish quality about him, it was so tragic that a full moon turned him into a vicious beast. With the tips of her fingers, she brushed back the hair from his brow.

He stirred, his long lashes fluttering open as he looked at her, bleary eyed.

“Hello, Cordelia…” his voice graveled and he didn’t bother to lift his head.

“I’m sure you feel just awful…” she cooed, to show him how bad she felt for him.

“Some might call that an understatement…” he said flatly.

“You poor little thang…” she continued to pet him, even though he showed no outward response to her coddling.

“Cordelia…” the way he leveled his voice stole her full attention. She thought, perhaps, he was about to issue some sort of command. “When’s the next full moon?”

“Miguelito says it’s tonight…”

His eyes widened. “How long was I sleeping?”

“More than a day…” she said softly. She splayed her hand over his bare chest, indulging in the soft hair there. She wasn’t shy and she reckoned neither was he. “You’re quite a sight when you’re sleeping, you know… It was positively painful to watch what they were doing to you, James…”

He let out a sigh, his lids falling heavily again with exhaustion. He was as beautiful as ever, but compared to how he looked when she first saw him, he had lost a little color and seemed just a little more gaunt. His edges were dulled a bit and it made her a trifle sad. But there was something so wonderful about his helplessness. His stomach growled, and he finally looked away from her to eye the tray.

Helpless and needy as a child. She smiled. “I brought you dinner. Here… Sit up and I will feed you.”

He moved as though submerged in molasses, a crease on his brow and his jaw tight. “No, thank you, I’ve had enough of the good doctors’ hospitality…”

Picking up the bowl, she spooned a piece of beef with carrot. “It’s all right, James, it’s perfectly good…”

She blew on it, even though it was lukewarm by now, and offered it to him. She could see the hunger in his eyes as they flickered from the spoon, to her breasts. Or was he looking at her throat? He didn’t open his mouth. Instead, he backhanded the spoon from her hand, and quicker than she thought he was capable of, he had taken the bowl and hurled it across the room. It shattered with such an awful sound, but she stared at the mess on the wall with an gaping mouth.

“James!” she scolded. “Now, Miguelito said you would be a might grumpy right before a full moon, but I didn’t think you would waste a good meal!”

“Is that what Miguelito said?” his voice was low, but there was a jeering quality to it. “Did he happen to mention that werewolves have powerful appetites for flesh?”

He was sitting up now and throwing off the blanket. He had nothing on underneath, and Cordelia was one part aroused, one part terrified. She stood and backed slowly away, putting on her most defiant face.

“He did mention that as a matter of fact…” she said.

“Oh, good…” he almost smiled. “Then it’s fair to tell you, Cordelia, that you’re looking exceedingly appetizing right about now… and I could really use something to sink my teeth into…”

“J-James, if you’re trying to frighten me, then it… it isn’t working…” Her back hit the door and she reached for the handle.

He was walking towards her, not quite a straight line, but his gaze was fixed on her with the intensity of any predator. Maybe all he really intended to do was man handle her in the good way and make passionate love to her. Or maybe he really did want to literally tear her to pieces with his teeth. As tempting as that hair on his chest was, and the very muscular shape of his thighs… she decided she wasn’t brave enough to stick around and find out.

She opened the door and flew through it, slamming it shut and turning the key just in time for the knob to rattle as he turned it from the inside. The door boomed from the inside, probably from his fist hitting it.

“I’ll come back when you’re in a more gentlemanly mood, James!”

“Oh, I can be a perfect gentleman, Cordelia…” His voice was as velvety as it was threatening.

“Fiddlesticks! I’ll see you after the full moon! You need a nap, Mr. West!”

“Cordelia…”

“Goodnight, Mr. West!” Holding her skirt, she stormed down the hall to go to her own room. She was sure she had never been as frustrated as she was feeling at this moment. James had been nothing but a gentleman these past few weeks, and all it took was a little moonlight to make him a boar. A bell rang somewhere in the house. She was ready to ignore it as she opened the door to her own room, when delayed realization told her that was the bell to the main entrance.

No one was supposed to know about this place!

Knowing Miguelito expected her to answer the door, she scurried down the hall, and downstairs to the foyer. Miguelito’s men were all kept in the shed with their cards and drink, to while away the hours until they were needed. This was Professor Van Der Meer’s home, but any help he had hired had left long ago, and playing housekeeper and housewife all fell to Cordelia. She was used to it. She had taken on all kinds of duties when her husband’s plantation fell into ruin.

Whoever was at the front door was still ringing the bell, and she knew Miguelito would start yelling at any moment. She stole a couple of seconds in front of a small wall mirror to make sure she was respectable, and she opened the door. The sun was low in the sky and it beamed directly into her eyes, forcing her to squint and shield her face with one hand in order to see the guest.

“Good evening, Madame…” the voice was European, but what kind she didn’t know how to recognize.

What she could see of him through the glare of the sunlight was that he was older, white hair glowing a little orange in the evening, a large bushy mustache covering his entire mouth, mutton chops framing his head like a mane, a cane in his hand and a satchel tucked under his arm.

“Good evenin’,” she looked around to see if he was alone. There was only his horse hitched nearby. “Anything I can help you with, sir?”

“I should hope so, indeed…” he enunciated carefully through his thick accent. “My name is Doctor Mikolaj Kruszka. I believe Professor Ignatius Van Der Meer is expecting me…”

No one had told her they were expecting visitors. She assumed they didn’t tell her everything, but she knew there was a distinct possibility that they weren’t actually expecting any guests. This man certainly didn’t look like any government agent. With a cautious eye, she stepped aside.

“Come in, Dr. Kruszka… I’ll let the professor know you’re here….” She watched him limp inside as he leaned on the cane heavily.

His back seemed fine, whatever ailed him looked to be in one leg or foot. She led him to the library and bid him sit down, which he gratefully did with a pained grunt, his satchel in his lap. She was about to excuse herself to find Professor Van Der Meer or Miguelito, but when she turned around, Van Der Meer was already stalking into the room.

“I am Professor Van Der Meer…” he said gravely, his hands clasped at his back as he approached their guest. “No, please, do not rise on my account…”

Dr. Kruszka was midway up when he dropped back down into his seat with another grunt. He extended a hand. “Ah, thank you… Dr. Mikolaj Kruszka… I apologize for arriving earlier than I had projected, Professor…”

“Earlier?” Van Der Meer quirked a sharp brow. “Forgive my ignorance, sir, but you were not expected at all.”

Kruszka’s mouth hung open under his mustache. “That cannot be… I wrote to you my intention to call upon you to discuss the speciation of the Lepidium draba?”

“I have never received such a letter… If I am frank with you, Doctor, the fact is that I specialize in Brassicaceae, I do not devote much time on the hoary cress…”

“Oh… Well…” Dr. Kruszka coughed nervously. “In my letter to you I had expressed my interest in visiting you in person for a more thorough discussion. I work at Dartmouth University. I was only a few days away on a field study, which I mentioned in my letter to you. You did not write back to directly tell me not to come, and so I made the choice on my own. I hope I am not being presumptuous, but I have admired your work for many years! I have not been able to find any colleagues in our field who are not merely observers of botany. You are the only man who has dared to _make_ something of it!”

“Well… Perhaps I am not the _only_ one…” Van Der Meer was struggling to grip his humility. “Dartmouth, you say?”

Cordelia didn’t understand anything that they were referring to or why plants were so interesting. But this unexpected guest, this harmless botanist, was distracting Van Der Meer from his experiments on James West. Perhaps that was not a terrible thing. Maybe James would have been in a more affectionate mood towards her if he hadn’t been tortured for the past few weeks.

“Cordelia,” Van Der Meer finally addressed her as he took a chair across from Dr. Kruszka. “Will you fetch some brandy for our esteemed guest?”

“Yes, Professor…”

Their conversation carried on about plants and weeds, using words with so many syllables they might as well have been speaking some foreign language. All she cared about was getting them the brandy and excusing herself so that she could go sulk in her room.

She was carrying the tray with the bottle and two snifters when Miguelito’s gentle voice drew her attention to a passing doorway.

“Oh, Cordelia…” He was wearing his red smoking jacket, his ascot neatly folded at his neck and a book in his hand. “Who’s here?”

“A botanist from Dartmouth University named Dr. Kruszka.”

His handsome brow furrowed a little as he looked up at her, his mouth tight with contemplation. “Botanists… How boring… Will you fetch me some chocolates?”

“Of course, Miguelito…”

He was already walking away from her and she continued on to the library. The two botanists were speaking jovially with such an excitement about flowering plants and other men in their field, it all went well over her head. They thanked her distractedly as she handed them their drinks and excused herself. 

* * *

They were talking for three hours now. The more brandy they consumed, the more talkative Professor Van Der Meer became, and all Artie had to do was listen. As they conversed, they drifted from the library to the laboratory so that Van Der Meer could show off his work. The room that they entered was clearly designed for more than botany. In fact, there were no plants in sight, since they were all in the conservatory on the other side of the house.

The laboratory had one wall devoted to chemistry equipment, beakers and Bunsen burners, tubes and vials. Another wall was cluttered with wires and machines that were so unique in their design, that Artie had to squint to recognize the components and piece together what their functions might have been. One of them was clearly a conductor of electricity.

Near those machines, standing cold and empty, was what appeared to be a mortician’s table. Except it had large metal rings on each end for chains and a metal bar across the middle. That was for chaining a person, and Artie’s stomach turned knowing that Jim must have been there.

He had his doubts when he arrived whether or not this would be the Van Der Meer he was looking for. He had been visiting them one by one for weeks now, talking and questioning, and he doubted a renowned botanist would be the one he was looking for. He knew he was in the right place the moment that the beautiful red head Cordelia opened the door. That meant Loveless was around here somewhere, and God willing, Jim too.

He was leaning on his cane as he listened to Van Der Meer.

“I have been making extraordinary breakthroughs with aconitum in the past few weeks alone!” the man said excitedly. “I had already been experimenting with its properties, but I have found a whole new purpose for it! I have a subject, a man with a very unique and rare ailment, that I believe can _only_ be cured with the drug that I have created!”

That was not expected. A cure? Could he really find a cure for lycranthropy? Artie concealed his curiosity behind gentle skepticism.

“Wolfsbane is such a controversial remedy, Professor… How can you be sure it is curing and not killing?”

Van Der Meer smiled, his chest puffing. “Let’s just say I will know for certain tonight…”

“Surely you have not been using pure wolfsbane?” Artie pushed.

“Certainly not, that would not be as effective… No, I have been using my own hybrid…”

He went on to explain the kinds of herbs he had been combining it with, as well as the chemicals needed to get the drug to bind to the subject’s blood. As he spoke, he paced around the room as though he was in a lecture hall again. Artie waited for a moment when his back was turned, and with a little sleight of hand, took a vial of the drug from the table and slipped it into his sleeve.

“Professor Van Der Meer!”

A friendly voice rang out into the laboratory, but Artie knew it too well to be comforted. Strolling casually towards them was Dr. Loveless, a painted look of surprise on his face.

“Forgive me! I did not realize we had a guest!” When he was near enough he offered his hand up to Artie. “I am Dr. Miguelito Loveless… An associate of Professor Van Der Meer.”

Artie swallowed down the urge to shoot him dead right here and he smiled, returning the firm shake. “Dr. Mikolaj Kruszka…”

“Are you a botanist as well?” Dr. Loveless sounded sincere.

“Indeed, Doctor, I am…” he said modestly. “Certainly not to the prestigious level of my peer.”

“Oh, on that I must agree,” Loveless chuckled amiably. “After all, when you are a jack of all trades you are a master of none. I’ve been watching you for the past hour, Mr. Gordon, and I must applaud you in that it took me that long to be absolutely sure it was you. But then, who else would arrive at the eleventh hour, on the cusp of the full moon, to rescue his friend from the clutches of the enemy?”

If there was ever any danger in his disguises, it was lingering long enough to be found out. He had gotten through the door and acquired hours of information, that was enough for him, he allowed the jig to be up.

“Where’s Jim West?” He spoke now in his own voice, and Van Der Meer recoiled back as if shot.

“An impostor?!”

Artie almost felt bad. They were having such a nice conversation up until now. 

“Oh, he is the greatest impostor in the country, Professor…” Dr. Loveless regarded Artie keenly. “This is Artemus Gordon, whom I have told you about. Loyal partner to our guest, Mr. West. Where there is one, the other is sure to be—sooner or later.” Loveless’s friendly demeanor was quickly beginning to sour. “If there is one thing about you that is incessantly frustrating, Mr. Gordon, it is your utter inability to just stay away!”

“Where is Jim West?” Artie asked again, more slowly.

“Irrelevant! He is under the belief that he had eaten you alive in the last full moon. The lie served for awhile, but it seems we now have the opportunity to make it a fact.”

At that moment, as if choreographed, four heavily armed men filed into the laboratory and surrounded Artie.

“We have been experimenting on Mr. West for the past three weeks, to see if we can harness or cure that curse in his blood. Of course, we cannot know if we were successful until the full moon rises tonight. I think it would be very interesting to see what happens when you two are reunited. We can all watch the moon rise together!”

He laughed devilishly as the men roughly led Artemus from the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Artemus was given a nice and cozy cellar to be tied up in to wait for the full moon. Nice and cozy as in damp and dusty. Loveless promised to relocate him just before the moon rise, but Artie wasn’t feeling particularly patient today. He waited a full twenty minutes in the cold cellar, surrounded by casks of wine, still wearing the tweed suit of Dr. Mikolaj Kruszka, but the white wig and beard had since been removed to restore him back to his dark curls. He was sitting on the floor, his hands tied behind his back, his ankles tied together. Getting out of this kind of bind was always infinitely easier when he had Jim and his boot knife, as well as the man’s athletic ability to twist and maneuver, no matter what kind of bonds he was in.

Artie may have lacked the physical flexibility, but he still had the means. Unfortunately, all his means were in the front of his vest. He really needed to get in the habit of putting equipment in the back as much as the front, for all the experience he had in being tied up this way. It seemed he had to do this the old fashioned way…

It was a lot of straining and unflattering grunting for him to just get his hands around his ass and under his thighs. Egads, he wasn’t meant to bend this way! He bent his knees and winced as he managed to get both legs through. He had to pause once he finally had his hands in front of him, the ropes cutting into him. Was he getting too old for this? Didn’t matter, this wasn’t some mission for President Grant. He was here to save Jim.

Now he was finally able to dig into his vest and find the rope-eating acid. It was in a tiny plunger, which needed just a small squeeze to spurt over the binds. It fizzled and hissed, a foul smelling cloud rising from it as it rapidly ate through the hemp. A slight tug, no effort wasted at all, and it all snapped apart. Work smarter not harder, as they say.

From there he moved quickly to get on his feet and hurry for the door. It was a miracle of miracles that they failed to search him thoroughly enough to find everything he had hidden on his person. The rope-eating acid, the small bulbs of knock-out gas, the lock picking device, and the vial of the wolfsbane experimental drug that he had pinched.

He stepped lightly up the rotting wooden steps of the cellar to get to the door, which was, of course, locked. The lock-pick device was secured over it, and with the winding of the key, the inner mechanism easily penetrated and clicked. Device back in his pocket and he was slipping through the door.  
  
The cellar door opened directly to the kitchen, and when he stepped through, he found himself staring at half a dozen men around a card game, the room filled with cigarette smoke, and all of them looking right back at him. There was a stunned silence. Artemus offered up his most charming smile as he tucked his fingers into the front of his waistband.

“Oh… I seem to have taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque… Ah, pardon me, gentlemen… Please don’t let me interrupt your game…” he began a casual stride towards the kitchen door. The moment one of the men reached for his gun, Artemus sucked in two lungfuls of air and held it, tossing a bulb right into the pot of their poker game.

Noxious pink gas filled the room and suffocated every man in the radius of it instantly. There was a slew of coughs just seconds before bodies thudded and chairs tipped over. Artemus snatched a pistol that had been hanging in its holster on a chair and rushed out into the foyer. There was no one there, and he wasted no time in rushing upstairs. He had to suppress his own cough, it was impossible not to accidentally breathe in some of his own gas, and his eyes were watering painfully. Instinct told him Jim must have been on the second floor, and if he wasn’t… well, Artie would just have to search every room till he found him. He cocked his pistol and crept along the hall.

He tested every door along the way, just about all of them unlocked and leading to empty, innocuous rooms until he finally came to one that was locked. With three bolts, no less. It sure looked fit for a werewolf. Another task for his lock picker on the door handle, but the bolts themselves didn’t need a key. One, two, then three of the bolts clicked free and he slipped inside, latching it gently behind him.

It was a well-lit bedroom with a body in the bed. Whoever was in the bed was curled up in a tight ball, buried under sheets and looking rather small. There was a changing screen nearby with a suit hanging over it, one that looked more or less like Jim’s style with the brocade and the fine fabrics.

Artemus swallowed hard, kept his pistol ready. For all he knew, that small lump on the bed was Dr. Loveless. He tiptoed nearer, not making a sound. The lump was breathing. Quivering, actually. Aiming his pistol, Artie slowly tugged at the sheet with his free hand.

“Jim!”

He was so pale, his usually lush hair limp on his head, circles under his eyes, his cheeks more sallow. There was obvious effort in him opening his eyes and looking up at Artie, blinking heavily.

“Artie…? Is that really you?”

Artie uncocked the pistol and tossed it aside on the bed. He crawled onto the mattress to get his partner’s face in both hands, to face him towards the light on the wall for a better examination.

Jim’s eyes were unfocused, almost confused and he was burning hot to the touch. “Artie, I was beginning to actually believe you were dead… That I’d killed you last full moon…”

Artie smiled and almost laughed with all the relief that was washing over him to have his partner in front of him again. “You were too busy going after Loveless to bother with me… Besides, that mine caved in on us and separated us.”

“Thank God for that…” Jim’s head weighed heavily in Artie’s hands. “If I’d’ve killed you…” He didn’t finish the thought and he didn’t need to.

“My God, Jim, what’ve they done to you?”

“Question is… what haven’t they done…?” He was trying to be funny.

“We gotta get you out of here…” Artemus said firmly as he took Jim’s arm and pulled it over his shoulder.

With a better grip on him he pulled him along with him to the edge of the bed. The sheet slipped away, revealing Jim’s complete nudity. Artie was stunned. Not at his friend’s lack of clothes, but the coloring of bruises and marks all over his body, the spots on his arms and the chafing to his wrists. Loveless had gone too far this time. Artie left him wobbling in an upright position on the edge of the bed as he went for the clothes nearby. He only bothered with the pants and the white shirt. There was no time to dress to the nines.

“Come on…” he started with the pants, holding them ready to help Jim step into them.

“Artie,” Jim snapped. “I can dress myself…”

Jim stood and immediately tipped over. He was saved from bashing his head on the bed pole by Artie catching him.

“Uh huh,” said Artie as he eased onto one knee, holding the pants open. “Come on. One at a time. Hurry up.”

Jim braced one hand on Artie’s shoulder and, as told, stepped into the pants one leg, then the other. While he pulled the snug trousers up on his own, Artie was getting the shirt ready so that Jim could get his arms through. Once he shrugged it on and worked at the buttons, Artemus found some boots for him. 

“Artie, my hospitable host here… Professor Van Der Meer…. He’s a botanist. He’s been experimenting with wolfsbane—”

“So I heard,” Artie was moving to the door, leaning close to listen for any approaching footsteps. “In fact he told me all about his breakthroughs with you. I saw his lab. It’s safe to say he’s a genius, albeit an evil one, and I think he really is onto something…”

Jim had commandeered the pistol for himself and was approaching the door too now, his steps heavy, every movement weak. God, it hurt to see Jim so wilted. Jim stood close beside him, slumping a little against Artie’s shoulder. He’d carry Jim out of here if it came to it.

“We need to get to that lab,” Jim whispered with a ragged voice. “If we can get our hands on some of that wolfsbane, then we’ll be halfway to figuring out the cure on our own. You can take it back to the train, I’ll stay here and wait.”

Artie was staring at him. “Stay here? Are you out of your mind? Wait for what?”

Jim’s eyes focused with frightening clarity. “The full moon.”

“Hey, if you think I’m gonna leave you—”

“Artie, I’m gonna tear them to pieces. All of ‘em. I’m so hungry… and mad as hell, like you won’t believe.” Even though he was weak, the wolf was ready to crawl through to the surface, Artie could see it in the flicker of fire in Jim’s eyes.

“I _do_ believe it. That’s all the more reason we’re getting out of here! We’ll get Loveless and Van Der Meer another time. We don’t need to endanger anyone else along the way… I’m beggin’ you, Jim, just stick with me. You know you’re not yourself.”

Jim looked ready to argue, but his stamina couldn’t keep up. He nodded, and offered the pistol to Artie, who hadn’t even asked for it, but he gratefully took it.

“We don’t need to get back to the lab, by the way…” Artie said quietly. “I already pocketed a sample of that drug that Van Der Meer was so keen on testing.”

Warmth returned to Jim’s features and he nearly smiled. “’Course you did…”

“Although…” A second thought occurred to Artie. “I’m thinkin’ maybe we ought to take a sample of one of those hybrid plants of his. Wouldn’t hurt us to have our own crop of it to harvest from, would it?”

“He’s got a whole row of them in his conservatory,” Jim said with inspiration.

“Which way?”

“East side pf the house.”

Out the door they went, Jim walking close beside Artemus, but following his lead. They crept down the hallway along the wall, side by side, Artie holding the pistol at the ready. Artemus had one eye ahead, one eye on Jim, his ears all around. Jim’s step wasn’t exactly straight. Occasionally he set a hand to Jim’s waist or his shoulder to make sure he was steady, but neither of them spoke. Down the stairs they went without hearing a sound. Artemus paused at the foot of the landing, unsure of which direction to go next to reach the conservatory. Jim tapped his shoulder, and once he had his attention, he pointed the way.

As they passed a door, there emerged Cordelia and she opened her mouth wide with a gasp that was likely to be released in a scream. In the time it took for Artemus to blink, and Jim suddenly had her from behind, a hand clasped tightly over her mouth.

“Well hello, Cordelia…” Artemus said quietly. “We’d love to talk, but we’re in a bit of a hurry…”

Her wide eyes shifted desperately, but she didn’t make a peep.

“Loveless’ll think twice if she’s with us…” Jim suggested, and Artie followed his meaning.

They could knock her out with the gas or Jim’s pressure point touch, but if she was found unconscious it would raise the alarm sooner than they needed. Obviously releasing her was out of the question, so they might as well keep her as leverage.

“How about a stroll in the conservatory?” Artie gave a charming smile.

Jim kept firm hold of her, his hand still on her mouth, the other latched around her arm. Artie watched with one eye to be sure that the moonlight-mania didn’t make Jim unintentionally more rough than he intended. So far, he was as firm as was necessary.

They slipped into the dark conservatory and Artemus moved along the rows of weeds, flowers, bushes… The place was lined with pipes, drip lines, with no signs or labels. The conservatory was… quaint. It would have been traditional with its wicker chairs and cute garden statues of terriers and cats, but there were also massive metal gears in the corners, hanging tanks of water that must have been treated with special chemicals for Van Der Meer’s work, that gave it a somewhat ominous mad science flair. It was a veritable forest of flowers, from sprouts to bushes and vines.

“Which one is it?” Jim asked quietly, and not without anxiety in his usually cool tones. He was having difficulty focusing and his breathing was labored. They were cutting it too close and Artie needed to hurry.

“I researched the various types of flowering plants that I knew Professor Van Der Meer specialized in…” Artemus explained as he quickly searched the rows of flowering plants. “These are definitely aconitum…” he pointed at the small buds.

There were at least five different types that he could identify as being in the family, but he had no way of knowing which were hybrids, if they all were, or which one Van Der Meer had been using in his experiments on Jim. He was really wishing he could steal the professor’s notebook for future study. They had no time. So, he helped himself to pruning each and every one, tucking the samples into a cigar case that he usually kept for collection of evidence.

He was just getting to the final flower when the sound of clinking gears rang out in all directions, metal scraping and pulleys dropping as iron bars dropped down each glass wall of the conservatory. Jim released Cordelia to kick a stone dog beneath the dropping bars, only for the carved rock to be crushed to dust. He was fast enough, but it didn’t matter. They were trapped.

“ _Must you two always derail the plans that I have so meticulously laid out for you?_ ” Dr. Loveless’s voice echoed out from two horn speakers that were fixed to the ceiling. “ _If you would have been patient, Mr. Gordon, I was going to bring Mr. West to you in the cellar for your reunion… But this will have to do. With you tripping the security protocols of Professor Van Der Meer’s conservatory, you’re as well contained there as any tiger cage. The mess will be much more difficult to clean, however…_ ”

“ _Loveless, you can’t leave them in there!_ ” Van Der Meer’s voice was harder to hear, as he no doubt stood farther from the mouthpiece. “ _Those plants are my life’s work! They’ll ruin it all!_ ”

“ _I sympathize with you, Professor, truly, but the moon will be rising soon and we do not have the luxury of time—_ ”

Cordelia flew to the barred door of the conservatory in a panic, shaking the iron without even being able to rattle it. “Miguelito! You have to let me out of here! I don’t want to die!”

“ _Cordelia! What are you doing in there?_ ”

Artemus looked to Jim, who was sweating and rubbing at his arms, then his neck, and rolling his shoulders as if covered in ants. To anyone who didn’t know Jim, it simply looked like he was feeling slightly under the weather. For Artemus, though, who had seen Jim endure the worst pain and torture and miseries, knew that the slightest show of discomfort meant he was in agony.

“Loveless!” Artemus looked at the speaker horns, for lack of anything else to speak to. “If you want Cordelia to live, you’ll get her out of here!”

There was no response.

Cordelia was practically hugging the bars as she sank to the floor crying, looking fearfully towards Jim.

“Artie…” Jim’s voice sounded like gravel. “Artie, you gotta give me that vial you stole…”

“What for?” He suspected he knew what for. “This stuff is pure concentrate and for all we know pure poison! Besides, we don’t have any syringe for it…”

“I’ll drink it if I have to!”

“You’ll probably die!”

“You got a better solution?” he barely shook the words from his lips as he doubled over, leaning on one of the tables, his fingers clawing into the wood. He was dripping with sweat. “It hurts… I can’t stop it, Artie… It’s the only way you can stop me… Give it to me.”

Jim reached for him and Artie stepped back, his hand pressing to his jacket where he could feel the vial in the inner pocket.

Artie, just as much as Jim, was ready to die if that’s the hand he was dealt, but he wasn’t about to assist his best friend in possible suicide. If Artie chose to die so that Jim could live, however… he was also condemning Cordelia. The girl was in bad company, but didn’t deserve this.

“Jim, I…” He looked from the crying girl, to his cringing friend. “I can’t do it!”

“Give it to me!” Jim growled, his vocals less and less human, and he sprang so fast, the next thing Artemus knew he was on his back on the floor, Jim on top of him, his hands delving into Artemus’s jacket to find the vial.

Jim was impossibly strong under the influence of the full moon, and Artie’s attempts to pry the vial from his hand proved futile. Without even a struggle, Jim was able to pull out the tiny bottle. So Artemus did the only thing he could and wrapped both hands around Jim’s and squeezed. Jim’s trembling fist—which was scalding hot to the touch—was forced to close around the fragile glass container. There was a clink, and the contents trickled out between his fingers.

“Artie…. What’d you do that for…?” Jim’s breathed as he looked to the small shards in his hand. Devastation smoothed his face just for a moment before it contorted into agony.

“I’m sorry, Jim…”

“What have you done!” Cordelia whimpered. “We’re goin’ to die!”

Artie reached for him, but Jim wrenched away, stumbling to his feet and towards one of the glass walls of the conservatory that were framed with iron bars. One stab of his elbow broke the glass and he was gripping the bars, pulling at them with all his might.

“Jim, that’s cast iron, you’ll never be able to—”

The metal groaned as it bent. Good God, he really did have impossible strength! It offered a little hope. If he could bend the bars and escape, then no one would have to get hurt…

Suddenly, the pulleys clanged within the walls and the bars began to rise from the door. When the door opened, Dr. Loveless was standing on the other side, a rifle nearly twice as long as he was tall, pointed into the conservatory.

“Come, my dear…” he said, his blue eyes fixed down the length of the barrel as he strode into the conservatory to get himself between the agents and the girl.

Cordelia picked herself up off the ground and scrambled past him, and far out of sight. Loveless looked across the room to where Jim continued to bend the bars like any circus strongman, but the rifle pointed to Artemus, who had no choice but to show his hands. He was, however, less concerned about getting shot and a little more concerned about getting torn to pieces. His attention snapped between Loveless and Jim, who was still pulling at the bars with all of his might, not even seeming aware of Loveless’s presence.

“No one has to die, Loveless! Just let Jim out of here while you still have a chance.” Artemus dared to step nearer.

“I would advise you to stay back, Mr. Gordon!” he said rapidly, fixing his aim and halting the agent. “I am nothing, if not prepared, and have had this contingency close at hand for weeks. This Winchester is fully loaded with silver bullets. I assure you that they can kill you as easily as they can kill a werewolf…”

“ _Shoot him now, Doctor!_ ” Van Der Meer’s voice came over the speaker horns. “ _Don’t let that thing destroy my work!_ ”

Loveless’s lips pursed tightly and he frowned up at the speaker horns. “We had an agreement to keep him alive! Your work means nothing without him and I am no where near satisfied in my revenge!”

“ _What do I care for your revenge?_ ”

More clanging, and the bars lowered behind Loveless, trapping him inside with his own enemies. He dropped the gun, wide eyed and white as a sheet.

“Van Der Meer! You—you— You Judas!”

“ _Now you will have to kill him if you want to live, Loveless!_ ”

Loveless was rattling the bars of the door now. “Van Der Meer! Cordelia! Let me out of here! How dare you double cross me?!”

Normally when their enemies were fighting amongst themselves, it afforded some advantage. In this case, it didn’t seem to help much at all. At least Cordelia was safe.

“Loveless…” Jim’s voice was so low it reverberated through Artemus’s very bones.

When he turned, Jim had his back to the bent bars, which were no where near moved enough for any body to pass through. He was breathing hard, shaking from head to foot, and even in the dim light of the conservatory, his pupils were blown, locked on Loveless.

“I’m gonna tear you to pieces…” his voice came out in a hoarse whisper and there were strings of yellow in his eyes now.

He charged, and with no other thought than to keep Jim from killing the man who so desperately deserved it, Artemus threw his arms around his friend. Artie was easily swept off his feet from Jim’s forward momentum, but his added weight and Jim’s afflicted body caused him to lose all balance and they fell to the hard floor together. Artemus didn’t let go, he hugged with all his might.

Jim was thrashing, but not fighting. For a moment he gripped at Artie, his hands clutching so tightly they could tear a limb off. Body to body, Artie could feel something moving under Jim’s skin, the very structure of his bones animate with transformation.

Moonlight breached the eastern horizon and beamed through the glass panes of the conservatory.


End file.
